A Spanish Ghost Story
by Moonphase
Summary: Modern AU. Rodrigo moves his family into a new home in a desperate bid to save his marriage. But evil forces exist in that house, ones that corrupt and bring out the inner wishes and evil within a person's heart. Will the Borgias fall prey to the house? What of their strange neighbours, Catherina and her brood? Featuring all characters from the show. Currently T, may go an M.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Rodrigo how could you?!"

Young Lucrezia winced as she heard something smashing on the ground. Obviously her mother had flung something at her father, perhaps a vase or one of their china plates. She could hear her father crying out that it hadn't meant anything and that she was over-reacting.

She was on her bed, hugging her pillow tightly. She hated hearing them fight, and since the birth of little Joffre it seemed to be happening more often. She knew what her mother also knew; that father was getting bored and so was beginning to stray. It wasn't unusual for her father to have his 'dalliances', their mother was a saint for putting up with it all.

However, this time had been too far, for any of them.

A disgusted _tsk_ behind her interrupted her thoughts. She turned to look at her brothers. Juan, who had made the sound, had his arms crossed and his eyes burned with shame.

"We're such a _stereotype_," he complained, "the Spanish family fighting and throwing crockery and having wild sex wherever we can. The neighbours can hear everything you know. It's why they all look at us the way they do; they're laughing at us. They think we're trash."

"It _is_ a little embarrassing," muttered Cesare, who was sitting behind a computer apparently completely unperturbed by the situation between their parents. Lucrezia stared at him. It had been Cesare who'd walked in on his father having sex with Bianca, their (ex) foster sister, in their parent's bed. She didn't understand how he could be so calm, she was certain that had she seen such things that she would have had a mental breakdown.

"Well," Juan shuffled uncomfortably, not used to having Cesare agree with him on anything, "having such a reputation is not _all_ bad. It's great being seen as a bit of a sex-fiend, high-class girls can't get enough of the sort of crap," he smiled, thinking of all the girls that snubbed him in the day but screwed him all night. His smile faded as he thought of his father's most recent transgression. "Though I suppose her being his foster daughter is a bit weird," he amended, "I mean there's randy and then there's just _perverted_."

His siblings made no response as he brushed his hand through his hair and sighed, "oh I don't care, I'm getting out of here," he opened up the window and swung his leg out, "call me when mom ends up forgiving him ok?" he leapt out with respectable agility and vanished into the night.

Lucrezia looked at a sleeping Joffre who was tucked into bed beside her. He was only seven years old. "Thank God he's sleeping through this," she muttered, "He's been raised on angry voices and bitterness."

"Its father's fault," answered Cesare, his eyes narrowing, "he get's worse with age. I wish mother wouldn't forgive him. I wish we could just leave with her, you, me and Joffre. We could go live by the sea-side, like mom always wanted. We could take on her second name and start all over again."

"No Juan?"

He loves father more than he loves us," he replied coldly.

Lucrezia said nothing, knowing that the sibling rivalry between her brothers was another wedge in their family. Instead she walked over to him and hugged him tightly from behind. He sighed and leaned back into her. She buried her face in his hair and for that moment revelled in how much she loved her brother.

The screaming had stopped now, replaced with sound of their mother weeping piteously and father trying to talk to her quietly. The siblings walked over to the bed and climbed in, joining Joffre. Hugging one another, they fell asleep.

* * *

**A.N.- It's short and lacking horror because it's just a prologue. Okies, so this is a multi-chapter story. It's an AU (as I'm sure you've all realised). It's loosely based on American Horror Story. It's a work in progress aka, I'm making it up as I go along, so I'm warning ya'll right now, sometimes up-dates will be slow.**

** Other characters from the show will be in this, including the wide-eyed adorable innocent we all know as Micheletto, the irrepressible charmer Cardinal Sforza and the demure and shy Catherina. I hope to throw a few twists in here and hopefully catch you guys off-guard now and then :)**

**If you review- with praise, con-crit, queries or anything, it'll make my day and fuel my desire to write.**

**Incidentally, hasn't series 3 of the Borgias been very good? Best series/season yet I say!**


	2. Arriving at the New Home

**Chapter one**

**Present Day**

One month after the infamous 'Bianca' fiasco, Rodrigo arrived outside his new home with his family in tow. Cesare and Juan had argued most of the way, making the journey hell for everyone, but now - thankfully- they sat in silent awe of the huge house that stood before them.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Rodrigo crooned cheerfully. "I got it for a fraction of the standard housing price!" he chuckled, he loved the fact that he was one the best, no, _the_ best, businessmen he knew.

The family stepped out of the family car. The house was situated on the corner of the street. It was had been built in the 1920's but was in the style of a Victorian town-house meaning it was tall, with high windows and contained an attic room, a basement and two level between them.

There was a reasonable sized garden which stretched from the front of the house round to the back. It wasn't pretty, there were no flowers, just limp grass and several untamed bushes. The drive was large and gravelled.

"The people who lived here before already renovated everything," he said, not mentioning to his family the fate of the previous occupants. There was no need to tell anyone, he'd decided, it would only frighten them; the children were overly-excitable and Vanozza was in a strange state of mind, like a wild animal he knew she was ready to flee at any moment. He needed to keep her calm and happy, to earn her trust back.

The family walked up onto the porch and Rodrigo pointed to the front door, grinning, "look," he said, above the door was a stained glass picture, "a bull! Haha, like the Borgia Bull, our crest is already here! If that doesn't prove we were destined to be here, I don't know what does!"

He pushed open the door revealing the interior. The house was dark. There were wood panel all along the floor and walls and ceilings. A large, wide staircase led the way to the first and second floor. The children sped up them immediately, all wanting to pick out their own rooms. Rodrigo chuckled warmly, happy to let them battle it out between themselves.

He then followed Vanozza into the kitchen. It was at odds with the rest of the house, completely modern with marble counters and cool metal appliances. Those who had lived in the house before had good taste.

"What do you think of the house my love?" He desperately wanted her to be happy; Rodrigo was weak man, but not an evil one. He had not liked the fact that he had finally managed to damage his wife's pride so deeply.

Her hand brushed against the sides. She turned and looked at him, her eyes the same chocolate brown as her locks, she reminded him so much of Cesare at times. "How did you get somewhere like this so cheap?" she said in a firm voice.

_Tell the truth,_ said a voice in the back of his mind, _tell the truth!_

"I'm an excellent businessman!" he smiled, the falsehood leaving his mouth before he had even thought about it. He walked over to her and hugged her tightly before she could read the lie in his face. "I just want us to be happy here," he whispered, allowing the sincerity to fill his tone, "I want us and the children to live here, a nice long boring life!"

He smiled warmly as he felt her hands cautiously run up his back, reciprocating the hug just a little. Rodrigo was praying she broke down the invisible walls soon. They hadn't made love in a month, and he was determined to remain faithful. Therefore he was dying, his libido a wild animal beating against a metal cage. Trying his luck he kissed her hair and went to move down to her face, but she pushed him away.

Rodrigo let out a grunt of frustration, but said nothing.

**xxXXxx**

Juan and Lucrezia ran hand in hand down the first floor corridor. "This room would be perfect for you!" shouted Juan. In front of them was a room painted a pale blue, the same colour as Lucrezia's eyes. It was a little old fashioned, the bed was made of pine-wood and had a white canopy over it. She smiled, "it's beautiful Juan, it's a room for a princess."

"Oh, a _princess_ room, we'd better let Cesare stay here then!"

They laughed, Lucrezia hitting his arm lightly.

Meanwhile, Princess Cesare stood with Joffre in a little green room. It was a corner room, and so slightly smaller than the others. But it was cute, and suited Joffre. "It's not as nice as the room next door!" pouted Joffre.

Cesare smiled patiently, "yes but that room is the master bedroom, it belongs to whoever owns the house. So that would be mother and father. You want them to have the best don't you?"

Joffre nodded, though the pout hadn't dissipated.

"You're the closest to mother and father," Cesare continued, "so you get to always be the first in their room. You'd get to wake them up every day, and if you have a scary dream, you can go right next door and they'll be there."

"That's not so bad," shrugged the seven year old, prompting Cesare to rub his hair.

Leaving the little one to unpack his toys alone, Cesare walked into the hallway and saw the stairs leading to the attic. He climbed up and found another room. It must have belonged to a teenager before him. It was a little bare, but add some posters on the walls and a few of his own collections it would become homely.

He sat on the bed. There was only one window, a round one above the bed. He looked out of it. He felt almost like he was on a ship. The view was of the back of the house. He could see the neighbourhood stretching out into the distance. At the front was his back garden. It was so bare.

He sat back on his bed. There was something melancholy about the house. Maybe his family could fix it with positive vibes but...he doubted it.

He remembered back to when mom had sat them down and told them that they all had to leave. Lucrezia had cried because she was going to miss her old friends. The whole thing had been hard enough, the empty look in his mom's eyes, the way she had forgiven father _again, _the fate of poor Bianca who everyone was trying to avoid talking about, the move which would surely be disruptive and not solve anything, but then Lucrezia's tears all made it too much. He had cursed his father out and stormed away from the table. Since then he and his father hadn't really spoken. There was a tension in the air, simmering between them.

"You should leave this house," sneered a voice Cesare had never heard before. He sat up and looked towards the attic stairs. A boy with a stupid haircut was looking at him, his lip curled up slightly.

"Who the hell are you?" cried Cesare.

"I'm your neighbour," said the boy, "the name's Alphonse."

"How did you get in?"

"You should leave the house you know," Alphonse chimed in his strange sing-song voice, "it's dangerous. Everyone who comes here ends up dying tragically, or horribly."

Cesare stood up and walked towards the boy. The child was strange. He was around the same age as Cesare but it was hard to tell.

"What do you mean?"

The boy leaned in, a mad glint in his eye and whispered, "the last couple who lived here, the one was hung from the balcony stairs and the other shot himself! My mother saw it all. She was friends with them. She came in and found their corpses. It's always like that with this house."

"What, it's normal? What about the people before them? It could have just been that one couple."

"I'm not google" sneered Alphonse, "look it up if you care enough. I just like to give people fair warning."

"Does your mom know you go around scaring people? Or trying to at least?"

"She's downstairs with your parents. Come find out for yourself."

* * *

**A.N- Two up-loads in one day, a rarity!**


	3. 1952: Ursula

**1952**

Ursula was a good wife.

She always did as she was told, even when it hurt her or made her sad. She was this way because she understood that her husband was a kind, good and sensible man and far more intelligent than her. He was a University lecturer; she was a housewife. He understood numbers and facts; she understood cooking and cleaning. He was a man; she was a woman.

But there were times when she was tempted. Now was one of those times. She was vacuuming the living room, but she wasn't paying attention to the floor. Instead her eyes were fixed on the television. It was brand new. Her husband had bought it to show off to his friends. Everyone who was someone owned a television set.

She had heard stories about television shows. How they showed things specifically with women in mind; advertisements and shows that starred women actors acting as normal women in real-life.

"Ursula what are you doing?"

She stood up right immediately, her pose like that of a soldier being addressed by their General. Her husband stood in the door-frame. He was mostly in shadow, but she could make out that he was wearing his favourite cardigan and smoking a pipe.

"I'm vacuuming dear," she stammered slightly. She turned off the vacuum, concerned that it was making too much noise.

"You had that silly look on your face," he said, "the silly look you always get when you're thinking. I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, spend less time thinking and more time doing something." He entered the room, the light shining on his hard features, "you know your kind are prone to hysteria once they start thinking too much."

"You are right darling," she said automatically, "I am very sorry."

"You were looking at that thing?" he gestured to the television.

She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears and her face flushing with shame.

"You know you cannot watch it don't you?" He said. She said nothing, feelings of resentment were rising up and Ursula was finding that as she got older, the harder it was to push these feelings down. She was so lost in her own mind that she did not notice he had approached her until he had grabbed her shoulders. She looked up at him, startled. "I do it for your own good, don't you see?" he said with something almost like passion, "do you know what they have on television? Stories, true stories, from all around the world. It's called the news. But it isn't all fun and dandelions as you believe the world to be. You see pictures of starving children, of dead animals, of war zones and battles and blood and gore!"

She pulled away, tears falling. She couldn't stand hearing about these things! How she wished he would stop!

" And you know who else uses the television?" he continued on, his voice becoming lower, "The Reds. They use television to hypnotise the foolish. You become their slave Ursula-"

She turned and looked at him, "I would never!" she cried before covering her mouth. He smiled at her fear.

"It's alright," he said, putting his arm around her shoulder in an odd display of affection, "whilst I don't appreciate your tone in talking to me I'm glad your patriotism is greater than even your love for me, which is how it should be. But I'm afraid I tell the truth." He sat down at the couch, motioning for her to join him. "If I had my way no child or woman would ever watch television, but I don't rule America."

"More's the pity" she said quickly, earning a smile from him and suddenly her world seemed a better place.

"But us men can watch television. We understand it. We can handle the dark things your pretty mind cannot. Don't worry Ursula, you're clever for a woman, why?" he smiled at her pleased grin, "because you listen to me!"

She nodded, feeling overjoyed. "Darling, what would you like to dinner tonight?"

"Nothing," he said, looking away from her and she felt the familiar coldness between them returning, "I'm leaving for the night. I have work at the office. It's the price we have to pay for living here."

He motioned at the house, with its wood panel and dark, handsome furnishings. She tried to smile but couldn't. Ursula felt that her marriage had become worse since arriving in the new house. Sure, the house was large and classy, but it was also old and creepy. Ursula felt stupid for thinking so but she was certain it was haunted. She couldn't stand the fact that she would have to be alone yet again.

However she said nothing when he left to get on his shoes and work satchel. She put his coat for him and collected his hat. He leant down and placed a careful kiss on her porcelain cheek.

"Remember my Dear, do not open the door to anyone."

"It could be a Red." She said automatically.

He nodded, and left. She locked the door after him. Her husband was always very strict on her not allowing anyone in the house when he was not there. She could not have family or friends with her without him watching over them with his oppressive presence. It was not surprising that since their marriage she had lost her friends and fallen out of touch with her family. Ursula convinced herself that it was alright. All she needed was her husband. Plus he had put the fear of god in her over the Reds. Even if her own mother knocked on the door now she'd be terrified that her own mother was a spy.

She walked slowly towards the kitchen, deciding to focus her mind with some cleaning, when the lights began to flicker.

"Oh no not again!" she whimpered, the lights flashing only happened when her husband was not around. She was becoming certain that either the ghosts of the house were only teasing her, or that she was going quite insane. She covered her ears and scrunched her eyes shut. She breathed heavily through her nose, as if trying to stave off a panic attack.

"Everything is fine," she told herself, "I'm a good wife. I'm going to go clean the kitchen. Everything is fine."

She slowly opened one eye, then the other. The house was back to normal, the lights hummed quietly to themselves. She looked up the stairs. There seemed to be a sort of blue tinted mist on the top of them, this mist drifting down the stairs towards the ground floor. She gulped and walked towards the kitchen. She passed the living room and as she did, she heard the voices of people.

Ursula's eyes widened. People?! Why were there people in her house? Were they Reds? What should she do? Heart racing she peeked into the living room. There were no people in there, but the television was on.

"How...?" she muttered, walking inside.

The screen was black and white and various shades of grey. A beautiful woman was having an intense conversation with a handsome man. Their speaking was fast paced and witty.

'But... You're a woman!' stammered the male character.

'Yes,' smiled the woman, 'my husband likes me that way.'

Ursula snorted with restrained laughter. Maybe television wasn't all bad? This was pretty funny...

Something beside her moved. Ursula looked to her right immediately but saw nothing. She sworn she had seen something in her peripheral vision.

She looked slowly back at the television. How had it turned on all by itself? No, she did not like this. Something strange was happening and this show was hypnotising her, making her doubt her husband. Nervously she leaned forward and touched the large button she assumed would turn it off. As luck would have it, she was actually right (she was certain her husband would be proud.)

Ursula turned around to return to the kitchen and let out a piercing shriek. In the doorway stood a woman covered in blood.

She was leaning forward slightly, a massive gash in her stomach causing her to stoop. There was an injury somewhere on her scalp as well, as blood poured from her raven-black hair onto her face and chest.

"Help me," she garbled, streams of blood pouring from her mouth.

Ursula shook her head slowly, stepping back. She was unable to process what she was seeing before it suddenly disappeared. The woman was gone; like switching off the television suddenly she ceased to be there.

Ursula stood shaking for quite some time. She wanted to run screaming from the house, but her legs had become useless. She glanced down and noticed that she had wet herself.

There was a knocking at the door. Ursula stared in the direction of the hallway for some time. The knocking became louder and more frantic.

She felt the bile rising into her throat. She slid down and crouched, not caring that she was still standing in her own urine, and whimpered piteously.

"Go away!" she thought, "Please go away!"

"It never goes away," whispered a voice right in front of Ursula. Without thinking she snapped her eyes open.

In front of her the Bleeding Girl was crouching down and staring at her. "It never goes away! She screamed suddenly, grabbing Ursula's neck and strangling her all whilst screaming incoherently. The maddened eyes of a vengeful ghost was the last thing poor Ursula would ever see alive.

The knocking on the front door continued banging until at last Ursula's husband was forced to kick the door in.

"Damn it you _stupid_ woman!" he cried, "I know I say never open the door but it was me, I -"

He stopped dead in his tracks. He had entered the living room to find his wife lying on the floor, her limbs spread out like a doll that had been thrown down by an unkind child. Her eyes were bulging and terrified. Her tongue protruded from her lips slightly. She had bitten it, and that had caused some blood to form on her lips.

He knelt beside her, feeling cold and nauseous. As he did, the television suddenly switched back on.

"What's the matter with you?" said the male character, seemingly gazing right at the recent widower, "are you crazy or something?"

He sat alone with his dead wife listening to the laughter of an invisible audience.

* * *

**A.N. The lines came from a show called 'I Love Lucy'. No idea if they correspond exactly to episodes that came out in 1952, but let's pretend they definitely do.**


	4. Catherina Sforza and her children

**Present Day**

"We weren't expecting guests so soon," Vanozza said whilst placing out a small china tea set from a cardboard box. "Rodrigo and I only just arrived with the children."

"I like to make myself known as soon as possible," smiled a handsome brunette. "I understand that you have quite a number of children, judging by the family wagon outside!"

"Yes," said Rodrigo, torn between happiness and despair on discovering their neighbour was a beautiful woman, "three boys and a girl."

"How wonderful, I have four children myself. Ah, here's one!" She smiled at the two boys who appeared in the doorway, "This is my third-born, Alphonse." She motioned towards the peculiar young man with the strange hair-cut.

"And this is our oldest Cesare," said Vanozza as the two boys sat at the table.

"Hello Cesare," the brunette grinned like a shark.

Cesare gulped, there was something very powerful, and weirdly sexy, about this woman. He looked up at his father and recognised the slightly bewildered and enchanted look. He hoped he didn't look at stupid as his father.

Determined to look grown-up and dignified, Cesare held out his hand and shook hers, greeting her formally.

"My name is Mrs Sforza," she said, "but as you are a young gentleman you may call me Catherina."

Vanozza sat down and poured everyone a cup of tea. Cesare noticed she was resolutely not looking at Rodrigo, as if she was turning a blind eye to his obvious crushing on their neighbour. Cesare's heart became a tad stonier as he realised his father had, somehow, managed to disappoint him _again_. They'd scarcely been in their new home for an hour before Rodrigo was sniffing out potential mistresses.

"Catherina, what a lovely name," Vanozza said warmly, her words not matching her hardened face, "we Borgias are of Spanish stock, but we love Italian names. Catherina and Alphonse, they sound so exotic to us."

Catherina smiled before sipping her tea. She glanced back at Cesare with a look so seductive that he almost whined in sexual desperation. Instead Cesare looked over at Alphonse who, to Cesare's great annoyance, was smirking at Cesare as if he knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Would you ever have any more children?" asked Catherina after a moment.

"Oh no, I'm too old now!" laughed Vanozza, sitting down at the table as she had finished serving everyone and tucking a hair behind her ear to hide her discomfort. As soon as she thought of her age she immediately flashed back to her ex-foster-child Bianca, someone who was so young and so luscious. She had been a fool to trust Rodrigo around such a specimen...

"Nonsense!" Catherina interrupted her thoughts, "I believe we are about the same age. I would love to have more children. 'Ten more sons' I say! Nowadays it isn't so difficult. But if the thought of child-birth worries you, how about adopting them, or fostering? I was thinking of doing one of those two things."

A tension suddenly exploded over the kitchen. The Borgias stayed quiet, the Sforza's watching them closely until Vanozza finally said, "well, we have fostered in the past," she glanced at Rodrigo, "and truth be told being a mother is what I love most, so I would like to foster again. My children are all growing older, Joffre is the youngest but he's seven. It seemed like only yesterday that Cesare here was the same age." She looked back at Catherina and after what seemed like a moment's contemplation added "before we had fostered a teenage girl, but I think I would prefer a baby this time."

"Oh definitely," said Catherina, "it's waste of time having any child over the age of five, they're fair too broken by that point."

The Borgias all shifted uncomfortably, and Cesare found himself frowning. "They're not broken," he said hotly, "that's cruel of you to say, they need help." He refused to look at his father but couldn't help but bite out, "people in the system take advantage of them. They're supposed to be protected by their foster parents but often that doesn't happen. That's not their fault."

He stood up and stormed out of the kitchen, refusing to care how his parents would explain away his behaviour; they would certainly never tell Catherina the truth, that would be too embarrassing and his family were masters of denial.

Cesare slowed in the hallway as he noticed a small door left open. He pulled it open and saw stairs leading down into pure darkness. "It must lead to the basement," he thought. If it was open than that meant someone must have gone down there. He walked down the steps slowly.

"Hey," he called, "Lucrezia, Juan, Joffre? Who's down here?" He heard a sound behind him, like feet running quickly, which made him leap up and turn around in one swift motion like a cat. "Who's here?" he called, "Juan? Stop being a jerk!"

Cesare was standing in a spot of light beaming down from the hallway through the door. All around him was shadow. He could just about make out shelves with, what looked like, jars on them.

A ball rolled out of the darkness and hit one of his converse trainers.

He bent down and picked it up, now convinced that it was Juan being an arse. He looked back at the stairs. He could just leave and refuse to play this game, but then he didn't want Juan calling him a coward. He could imagine them all sitting at dinner, Juan telling everyone how Cesare ran out of the basement in fear. Father would laugh no doubt, maybe even Lucrezia.

Cesare scowled, his decision made. He walked into the darkness following the direction the ball had come from.

xxXXxx

As tense, but polite, conversation was made below on the ground floor, little Joffre was happily playing with some of his toys. Despite having three siblings he was often left alone. He was the youngest and they were all teenagers. None of them played with him anymore. Lucrezia used to, but then she discovered make-up and boys and to him his brothers always seemed to be the same as grown-ups.

His favourite toy was a stuffed animal, a dove specifically. He made his dove fly around his room, pretending that the dove was his friend and whenever things became too difficult his winged friend would pick him up and fly him away to another world.

"What a lovely little boy you are."

Joffre looked up to see his wardrobe was open. Inside it was young woman was watching him.

He hugged his dove tightly to his chest. "Who-who are you?"

"Don't be scared," she laughed. She stepped out of the wardrobe and he smiled. She was wearing a long white dress. Her hair was long and black and curled. She was beautiful.

"Are you an angel?" he whispered in awe.

"Yes," she smiled, "I'm your guardian angel. Only you can see me, isn't that fun!"

He nodded. "Do you have wings?"

"Yes, but I cannot show them to you. They are so bright they would hurt your eyes."

Joffre accepted this easily. His parents had told him something similar about the sun. He looked a little bashful and said, "would you mind playing with me?"

She laughed again and lifted him up, "Oh sweet child, I would love to play with you!"

She enveloped them both in a bright white light, and like that, Joffre and the mysterious lady disappeared.

Meanwhile, down in the basement Cesare's eyes had gotten used to the dark. He looked at the jars on the shelves. He wasn't sure but it looked like there were actual parts of animals in them; things such as eyes and hunks of flesh. I one he swore he saw a baby's foot, but that had made him throw himself backwards and he had been too frightened to check a second time. The basement was huge. It twisted and turned, almost like a labyrinth. He wondered if there was a Minotaur down there.

"Father would like that," he thought bitterly, "a half man, half bull. He'd see it as more symbolism."

His senses suddenly heightened again when he heard a soft scratching against a hard surface. He gulped and felt all the hair on his skin rising. He walked slowly in the darkness, keeping on hand on the wall next to him on his right hand side. On his left side was the infinite darkness which hid the shelves within them, he didn't want to go near them again. In front all he could see was black. It was as if it were getting darker and his eyes could not adjust to it.

He stopped walking.

He could hear a raspy sort of breathing.

He mouthed Juan's name, but he couldn't bring himself to call it out. A deafening fear came over him, a kind he had never felt before, blocking out all his thoughts, making him focus on nothing but that breathing and the darkness.

Cesare squinted. Was there something in there? Some sort of shape...a face?

Yes, there was some sort of face. It was hollowed out by the darkness but he could just about make out pale flesh, a thin nose and shadowed eye sockets.

He frowned, was he just seeing things in the darkness or-

The thing suddenly flew towards him. Its mouth was open and a terrible, inhuman shriek filled the basement. Cesare let out a scream and felt himself being thrown backwards. He closed his eyes and felt himself clawing at the concrete floor.

This went on for a few seconds before he realised the screaming had stopped.

He opened his eyes and looked around. He was covered in sweat. The cold light of day was drifting in from a small window in the basement. The scratching noise was closer now.

He turned to his left quickly and saw Juan sitting with wide eyes scratching absent-mindedly on the floor. Cesare ran to his brother and shook him, "Juan, Juan! Snap out of it!"

The younger brother blinked, looking a little startled.

"Cesare? Where are we?"

"In the basement," Cesare was ashamed to hear his voice trembling. He waited for Juan's mockery, but none came.

"Let's get out of here," Juan grabbed Cesare's hand and together to boys ran out of the (seemingly much smaller) basement back into the ground floor hallway.

* * *

**A.N.- So you guys all probably know by now that The Borgias has been cancelled. By what I can make out Neil Jordan got bored and Showtime were stunned to find that when you barely advertise a show and you pit it against another show that has been gathering a hardcore fandom for over a decade, that it won't do as well in the ratings.**

**Fans in the past have managed to get their shows re-instated. If you want to join in getting The Borgias a proper conclusion, then please sign the petition, just search for "We need 4th season of The Borgias" on thepetitionsitedotcom. Or if you have Twitter join the mass twitter event happening this Sunday.**


	5. 2011: The Orsinis

**A.N. The Paolo in this isn't Lucrezia's lover from the show. He'll make his appearance later. No, this Paolo is the blond guy who was part of Cesare's little pack of disgruntled second sons in season 3. So is Roberto Orsini. Paolo was the tall blond guy. Roberto was the little brown haired guy who got all pissy when Cesare made a crack that he was possibly gay. It's the sole reason why I chose these two for this role in this story.**

**October 2011**

"This is it Roberto, our new start!" Paolo Orsini brushed a hand through his thick blond hair and grinned down at a small brunet.

It was an autumn morning, the sky was a deep sapphire blue and a chill was heavy in the air. It was the sort of crisp, clear morning that always made Paolo feel renewed and energised. The trees were shades of gold and red; the richly coloured leaves falling from their mother branches and blanketing the weak, faded grass. The cold wind blew, lifting up the golden leaves to dance around the two men.

The house they had bought looked impressive in the midst of such stunning surroundings.

"It's huge," the smaller man said taking in the house with wide eyes, "Can we really afford a place like this? Paolo, I'm not sure..."

"Everything's taken care of," sighed Paolo, he hated it when Roberto hadn't faith in him, "trust me," he wrapped an arm around the brunet, "everything is going to work out; our lives start anew right here!"

**Present Day**

"I'm sorry about Cesare," said Vanozza after a moment of awkward silence.

Alphonse was biting the insides of his mouth desperately holding in a bout of manic laughter. This family, they had been in the house for a couple of hours and yet already they were unravelling! Though it was also possible that they were an emotional mess beforehand, as many of the house's previous victims were...

Catherina contained far more self control than her progeny and instead said with dignity, "it's quite alright. Moving home is extremely stressful and I know what teenage boys are like; mine are often prone to acts of violence and fits of hysteria."

Vanozza paused for a moment, and gave Catherina an odd look. "Really? Are...are they dangerous at all?" She glanced at Alfonso, who leered at her in response. She barely managed to stop her lip from curling; she did not like this little boy.

"Of course not!" Catherina laughed loudly, making Vanozza feel very stupid and paranoid suddenly. "No, I just mean that, like normal teenage boys, they can be quite dramatic and boisterous."

Rodrigo growled in quiet annoyance, "Ours are the same. Juan isn't so bad but Cesare can be very difficult."

Vanozza scowled and hissed in a quiet voice, "Cesare is an angel compared to Juan!"

The atmosphere suddenly became taut again. Vanozza sipped her cooling tea and Rodrigo looked as if he wanted to run to the hills. Catherina smiled and soaked it all in, whereas most decent people would leave, she happily stayed just to continue the tension.

"You know," she began after a few moments, "this house has a bit of a history. I'm sure you got it at a bargain, though I'm surprised you agreed to come here."

Rodrigo shifted in his chair uncomfortably and Vanozza looked suspicious, "what do you mean?" she inquired at once, "what history?"

"Oh I'm just a little superstitious," Catherina laughed throatily, "pay no mind to me. But I was always taught that when someone died violently, they haunted the place of their death." She sighed and looked around the kitchen, "those poor, poor men." She glanced at Vanozza, "two gays. They died here. It wasn't pretty, and I would know because unfortunately I found them."

"How did they die?" Vanozza looked pale, but not with fear, with growing anger. Rodrigo glanced at the kitchen door wondering how pathetic it would look if he suddenly ran away.

"It was a murder-suicide," she said plainly, before suddenly looking surprised and sitting up out of her seat to declare, "surely you knew? The agent would have been required to tell you!"

Vanozza pressed her lips so tightly together they turned as pale as the rest of her face. "I didn't meet the woman who sold this house," she ground out, "my husband dealt with the sale. Rodrigo, did she tell you about the previous occupants?"

Rodrigo flailed a little, as he was wont to do whenever he became flustered, "well...yes, but it hardly matters my love! I mean, as Ms Sforza rightly assumes, it's not as if we're superstitious."

Vanozza looked away from him, the fury of having truths hidden from her (again) curling and boiling in her stomach, "Catherina, how did they die, if you don't mind reliving the awful circumstances."

Catherina sipped her tea delicately, no sign of distress on her face at all, "well I shall try," she said lightly, "the one, the little one, shot his lover in the head. Then he hung himself, right from the first floor stairs. As soon as I stepped into the foyer I could see him hanging there, like a disregarded puppet. It was very sad. Very tragic. They were so in love at the start, but pressure built up and the relationship fell apart. I believe the one had an affair, or so the murderous one believed, at least."

Vanozza sat on a kitchen chair, "how awful," she muttered, "what were their names?"

"They were the Orsini's. Nice boys, but they turned dark," Catherina got up, at long last deciding to leave the couple in peace, at least for now, "they turned very dark. It was a shame." She looked around the room one last time before finally making her excuses, and exiting with her son.

The couple sat in silence for a few minutes until Vanozza whirled towards Rodrigo, who instantly looked defensive.

"Really? Really Rodrgio? Oh Great Manipulator! Oh Fantastic Businessman?!" She laughed mockingly, though no humour was in it, "I cannot believe you, taking us to a place like this!"

"What's the issue here?" he cried, insulted by her scorn, "I don't understand why you are upset? It's a large house and we got a great deal on it. It's fraction of the other houses on this street, in this neighbourhood even!"

She folded her arms and bit her lips, a habit she had developed whenever she was holding speaking her mind whenever he said anything she found particularly obnoxious. Rodrigo supposed that he should dislike it when she did that, but he didn't, he always thought she looked quite sexy in that pose actually, he grinned, sensing her regaining her control and steadily backing down.

"Look, it's not as if anything bad will happen to us." He continued, "One bad thing happened in this house. It's the same in any home. People die or there's some other sort of tragedy. It doesn't mean anything. We're here now." He had come close enough to cup her chin, lifting her up so that her dark eyes would meet her own, "it's not as if there are ghosts here!"

He chuckled at his own joke, but Vanozza was silent. She didn't like what was happening. It seemed wrong, it all seemed wrong. Uncrossing her arms she left the kitchen, suddenly she felt the urge to find all her children to rally them together.

**December 2011**

It was raining hard outside. The wind was bellowing, throwing bins and debris down the street and threatening to break out into a full storm. Still, Paolo sat in the car looking pensively at the house. He took out a cigarette and began to smoke, feeling at ease now that its poison was floating through into his lungs. Roberto hated it when he smoked, especially in the car. But for the last few months Roberto had increasingly become insufferable to be around.

It was one of the reasons why Paolo was sitting in the car, and had been for half an hour, simply looking at their home.

It seemed like the house, which had once appeared tall and noble, was now leering down at him. Everything was going wrong. Beside him, on the passenger seat, was a bunch of flowers, (all various shades of red, from scarlet to vermillion, to match the house's dark and passionate decor) which was laughable because how were flowers going to fix anything?

It was hard to pinpoint exactly when Paolo began to fall out of love with Roberto and when Roberto, doubtless sensing this, began to pour all his love and energy into the house instead. It was utter madness. The men had wanted to marry, now that it was legal, and adopt a child or two. Now it was as if the house was Roberto's child. His child _and_ lover.

'Maybe we should go and get therapy?' Paolo mused. "I can't stand the idea that we're one of those couples now, the kind that hardly talk to one another. Going to therapy is stupid and namby-pamby, but what else can I do?" He glanced at the backseat thinking about what he had been doing in it just over half an hour ago. "God, look what I've become!" He finished his cigarette and threw it out the window before climbing out of his car, grabbing the flowers before he did so.

He ran across the drive up onto the patio before scrambling for his keys and letting himself inside.

As usual the foyer was wide and intimidating. The wide staircase stood before him, the lights were off upstairs and it looked like the staircase was leading off into Death.

For him this house never really seemed like a home and as time had gone on and his relationship with Roberto deteriorated, he increasingly resented it.

A light shone on his right, signalling that Roberto was sitting in the living room. Paolo sighed and hung his head slightly. He had only been in the rain for a few minutes as he had run into the house, but his hair had been sufficiently soaked, and now clear droplets fell to the floor like tears. He hated the living room. He had had a disturbing experience in there a few weeks ago and since had hated yet. Conversely Roberto went in there increasingly frequently.

Steeling himself, he raised himself up to his normal height and walked into the living room. His heart dropped almost immediately. The whole room had been re-arranged, again, and Roberto was sitting on the floor surrounded by letters. Polo recognised them. They were warning letters from his bank, his lawyers and other companies he owed money to.

Roberto looked at him, brown eyes blank of emotion. He held up a late bill letter that was threatening them. "What is all this?" Roberto said, his voice calm. Paolo was not convinced, he knew that soon the storm was coming. "Why did you not tell me we were in so much debt?"

"You've changed around the furniture?"

"So this is another secret you've kept from me?"

"It looks kinda nineteen-fifties in here now..."

Roberto stood up, "what have you done that you've been sitting in the car for almost an hour? I see you have bought flowers. You never do anything romantic for me anymore unless you feel guilty."

Paolo gritted his teeth and pulled his eyes away from the re-designed room to look at his lover. Roberto looked pale and tired.

"I'm sorry about the bills." He said at last, "I just didn't want you to get worried, and costs just spiralled out of control-"

"Screw the bills!" screamed Roberto, flinging the papers in Paolo's face. Ah, so finally Roberto was reverting back to his usual fire-cracker ways. "You only say that because you now know that I know!" the younger man continued, "you could have told me! You could have! We never kept secrets before! Now we move to this house and I am doing my best to make this house our dream home whilst you waste away our funds!"

"I waste away our funds?" repeated Paolo incredulously, "you keep re-designing the house! You keep redecorating! It's insanity. There was nothing wrong with it when we arrived. For god's sake it was fully furnished. But you keep insisting on bringing it back to whatever period takes your fancy from week to week." He gestured around the room, "why is here now decorated like it's 1953? Why? You've never even been interested in the past? What's this insane obsession?"

"Stop using the word insane," hissed Roberto in response, "If I had known the trouble we were in I wouldn't have spent the money. I re-decorate because I have nothing else to do! I can't get any work in this god-forsaken town, and every night you're out getting drunk and laid by strangers."

Paolo opened his mouth to argue but Roberto continued.

"Don't deny it! I know Paolo, I know. I can smell them on you when you come home, when you have the audacity to lie beside me in our bed after doing god knows what." He sighed and sat down on the arm rest of a settee. "I'm so tired. I decorate the house to keep them happy, so that they feel at home. But I can't do it right. I can't sleep. I can't..." he brushed a hand over his face and through his long, brown hair, "I can't make love to you because I'm so tired. And that's why you go to other men. But I need you. I need your support but every day you slip further away and I fall into the clutches of this house."

"What are you talking about?" whispered Paolo, suddenly feeling cold. The unspoken tension between them was now being voiced, and Paolo found that he was too afraid to talk about it. "Who are 'they'?"

There was a silence before Roberto looked at him, his eyes once more blank and his voice inflectionless. "Nothing," he muttered, "I'm not talking about anything. Forget it." He stood and walked over to Paolo with small, subdued movements. "Thanks you for the flowers. They'll match the first floor bedroom."

"We'll sell the house," called Paolo after Roberto had taken the flowers and walked to the living room door, "we'll sell it and move away. We'll have a fresh start somewhere new."

"This was our fresh start," bit back Roberto, "remember?"

**Present Day**

Upstairs, on the first floor, Cesare and Juan stood outside of Juan's bedroom. The boys had run up the stairs at a rapid speed, only just stopping now to catch their breaths.

Cesare looked around the hall, it suddenly seemed dark and frightening. Gulping he glanced at Juan. It looked like he was shaking a little.

"What happened down there?" croaked Cesare after a moment.

Juan sighed and shrugged, "I dunno," he whined slightly, "everything went weird. I don't want to talk about it. This is my room. Now go away."

He stormed into a room painted a Spanish red and slammed the door in Cesare's face. Normally Cesare would open the door and kick Juan's ass for being so ignorant, but after the weirdness in the basement, he decided to let it fly. In all honesty he didn't want to talk about it either. He'd only mentioned it because he was worried he'd go insane if neither of them acknowledged what had happened.

Turning around, he heard music playing softly. It was a French song. Cesare smiled softly. He looked up at the bedroom door. It was painted white and had a little wooden sign on it which read 'Lucrezia's room.' It was cute, little hearts and flowers decorated the words. Lucrezia had made it when she was ten but had treasured it, like all her childhood objects, with powerful sentimentality. He was so aware of how innocent she was.

He groaned quietly and leaned his head on the bedroom door. The singer, a woman, sung softly and delicately. It soothed his fears and he could put the fears from the basement in to the back of his mind. After preparing himself, Cesare knocked on the door and, after hearing a cheerful, 'come in!' obeyed his sister's command and entered.

"Cesare!" she grinned. Her room was full of boxes, but she had most of them already emptied.

"You've wasted no time," he smirked at her and she melted at the sight of it.

"I'm like mother, I like to just get on with things. I love this room, Juan picked it out for me and I'm glad he suggested it."

"You're far away from me. I'm in the attic."

She pulled a face of childish discontent before crossing the room to embrace him. He lowered his head buried his face in her golden hair. She smelt of Pease-blossom and happiness.

"You shall have to come down often. Just to see me. You can sleep in here if you like, we could share the bed. I wouldn't mind. It'd be like we were children again."

He pushed her away gently. "What's playing?"

"It's the new album by Couer De Pirate. She has an angelic voice. I wish I sounded like her."

"You do have an angel's voice." Said Cesare matter-of-factly. "You look like one too. It's why I worry so much about you going to high school.

"Well you shouldn't, I'm capable of looking after myself." She smiled at him and he felt his body screaming at him to never let her out the house, to never let any boy gaze at her visage. The world was too violent and she was too sweet.

"Are you alright?" she asked after a short silence, "you seem..." she struggled to find the right term, "well...out of sorts. What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Cesare thought of the face in the darkness. He thought about the terrible screams and how he and Juan ran upstairs whilst holding hands, like two terrified children, all enmity between them forgotten in that moment of complete terror.

"No," he forced a smile to his lips, "no, I'm ok."

She looked unconvinced.

"I swear; I wouldn't lie to you."

"That's true," she kissed him on the cheek. Cesare excused himself, saying he still needed to unpack before hurrying out of the room and upstairs. He passed Joffre's green room, not noticing that the boy was no longer in it and that toys lay abandoned on the floor, and rushed up into the attic room.

He sat down on his un-made bed. He felt bad. He'd never lied to Lucrezia before.

'But the truth was too crazy,' a voice in his head reasoned, 'it would only scare her. The lie was necessary to protect her.'


	6. 1953: Mattai

**A.N. So we get a bit of Mattai in this chapter. For those who may not remember, Mattai was the Jewish leader who worked with Rodrigo in season 3. As you may have guessed by me using Ursula, her miserable husband, two of Cesare's little pack from season 3, and now Mattai, I'm getting as many characters in this from the show as possible. Micheletto, Cardinal Sforza and few more significant characters will appear later on, and, like in the show, will have significant roles to play. Right now, we're still essentially in introduction mode.**

* * *

**November 2011**

Paolo came home after a heavy work out in the gym. Roberto was in the back garden, staring at the bushes.

"What are you looking at?"

"I thought I saw someone," Roberto turned and gave him a quick smile, "good workout?"

"Yep. How's the job-hunt?"

Roberto shook his head, "still nothing. And with the recession bearing down on us still, people are losing jobs. It's not good. Maybe I should go back to school, re-train as something else."

"Perhaps," said Paolo evasively. They were still paying of the mortgage and they were supposed to be saving up to get married. They already used the same second name (Paolo's, as Roberto hated his father and was estranged from his entire homophobic family) but they wanted to make it official. However, funds were running low. Paolo had miscalculated and they were heading towards bankruptcy. He kept Roberto in the dark simply because he did not know how he could tell his lover that he had royally screwed them both. They couldn't afford to send Roberto to college or university.

"Just keep trying," he said at last, "something will come up."

Paolo turned to go in the house but saw that Roberto wasn't following him, "aren't you coming in?"

Roberto watched the house and said, "The main reason I want to work again isn't for the money. It's for the company. All day I have no one to talk to."

"Isn't there the neighbour?" Paolo turned back to face Roberto, guessing that they were not going inside even though he was tired and in need of a shower. Roberto was selfish sometimes.

"Yes," he said slowly, "but I don't really like her," he whispered, as if she could hear. "Her children...well...some of her children seem alright but..." he shrugged, "something is off with that family. It's obvious that I...well, that I don't fit in." He walked past Paolo and to the house, Paolo following like a large puppy. " It's like being at home all over again. The odd brother, the one who didn't match the others. The stupid hot-head."

"No one thinks of you like that here."

"Only because no one knows me. But I can tell they'll think badly of me if they do get to know me."

Paolo rolled his eyes, "this isn't like you." they entered the house, Roberto standing awkwardly on the threshold. "You're just being paranoid. I'm going to take a shower." He bolted upstairs away from his boyfriend.

Roberto looked back out into the gardens. He knew he was being whiney and weird but he couldn't help it. With a strange sense of foreboding he took one look at the outside world before closing the door, locking himself inside the house.

**Present Day**

Only moments after arriving back in his room, there was a knock on Cesare's door. It was his mother.

He gave her a quick, perfunctory smile before returning to his un-packing.

"Will you come downstairs in a few minutes?" she asked, "I want the family to have lunch together."

"Can't I stay? I have unpacking to do. I'm not nearly done."

"I want the family together," Vanozza repeated in a tone that demanded her son not refuse her, "I really want us to spend more time together. We can have sandwiches. The neighbours are gone now, if that helps."

Cesare putdown the record he was holding and held his mothers gaze, "I didn't like that lady or her son."

Vanozza gave him a knowing smirk, "did you not? I saw you ogling her. You're as bad as your father."

Cesare blushed and looked away. "Don't say that," he whispered.

Vanozza's smile slipped away and she suddenly felt bad. "I'm sorry." A beat. "Your father isn't all bad. He's trying."

'Not hard enough and he'll soon slip up anyway,' Cesare thought, but he kept silent.

Vanozza looked around the room, "is Joffre not here?"

"He's in his room. The little green one. I thought he should be by you and father."

"He isn't in there, I checked. Perhaps he is with Juan. He wouldn't open the door when I knocked." She began to walk down stairs and Cesare followed her. After a moment's thought he said lightly, "There was some issue in the basement."

"What? Issue? What do you mean?"

"I don't know." He was silent as they walked by Joffre's room and down to the first floor. "I think he got scared by something. Maybe there was a rodent."

Vanozza turned to look at him, "Juan isn't afraid of rodents."

The bass of heavy music could be heard through Juan's door. It sounded like Slipknot's earlier work. Vanozza banged on it with her lips pursed; she didn't approve of metal. Cesare glanced across the hall to his sister's room. The door was left open and no music was playing. She wasn't in her room

"Is Lucrezia downstairs?"

"Yes, she's making sandwiches as we speak." She knocked harder, "Juan! Juan open the door!"

Finally the door swung open. "What?!"

Vanozza crossed her arms with a single eye-brow raised and Juan had enough grace to bow his head just slightly in shame.

"Come downstairs," commanded Cesare from behind her, his arms crossed, unaware of how pompous he looked and sounded. "We're having lunch as a family."

Juan rolled his eyes. Cesare watched him closely; Juan was sweating slightly, and his eyes looked slightly blown...

Vanozza seemed not to notice. Instead she was peering into his room. He shut the door slightly muttering, "what?" at her.

"Where is Joffre?" she asked, "is he not with you?"

"No. I wouldn't have him in there with all that music on. I thought Cesare was watching him," he snarled at his brother. Now it was Cesare's turn to roll his eyes.

"Well we need to find him!" barked Vanozza. "See, this is why I didn't want a big house," she began to grumble as she walked down the hall, "it's too easy to lose people. Joffre! Joffre where are you?"

"I'll check upstairs," muttered Juan, but Cesare grabbed his sleeve.

"What if Joffre went into the basement?" he hissed, hearing and resenting the fear in his voice.

Juan pulled his arm away with unnecessary force, the whites showing all around his eyes "and-and what if he is!" he stammered, "it's- it's only a basement."

Cesare cocked his head slightly, "do you want to go back down there to look?"

Juan shook his head furtively. He then licked his lips and whispered, "he won't have gone down there. He's scared of the dark."

Cesare nodded, this was true. Slowly the two boys walked upstairs, neither wanting to be alone all of a sudden, and they went back into Joffre's room.

"It's cute in here," Juan said, looking at the light green walls, "looks like this might have been a nursery once."

"If mother and father get their way," said Cesare looking under the bed as Juan looked out of the window, "then it will be again one day."

"More and more Borgias..." muttered Juan frowning as he thought he saw someone hiding in the bushes outside. He stared but no longer saw anything. Perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.

He turned away and opened the wardrobe. No, Joffre wasn't in there either. He brushed a hand through his hair.

"Well he's definitely not in here."

"He isn't in my room," said Cesare, "and Lucrezia would say if he went with her. I left him playing in here, I swear."

"How long ago?"

"I don't know, an hour maybe? I went downstairs to see some neighbours, saw you then spoke to Lucrezia before going back to my room. The house is big, but are there that many places for him to go? Besides, it isn't like him to run off or hide."

"I don't like this house."

Cesare looked at Juan but said nothing. The wardrobe door creaked open slightly. Both boys looked. It opened a bit more before Joffre fell out as dead weight. Both boys ran to him crying out his name. The boy was unhurt. It looked like he was fast asleep.

"I looked in the wardrobe, he wasn't in there!" whimpered Juan.

"You didn't look properly you dolt," muttered Cesare. He earned a swift punch on the side of his head from Juan in response.

"Stop making me out to be an idiot! He wasn't in there!" Juan then ran out of the room, doubtless in Cesare's mind so that he wouldn't receive an ass-whooping.

He looked at Joffre before rousing him. "Mmmfh," the boy muttered, "wanna sleep."

"Alright." He picked him up and almost placed him in his own bed, but then he looked at the wardrobe which had been left open. The wardrobe was small and hadn't Joffre's clothes in it yet. Being so shallow and painted white, there was no way Juan could've missed Joffre unless he was blind. Feeling foolish and paranoid, Cesare decided to move Joffre into his own bedroom upstairs. He tucked the boy in bed. It had no sheet but he threw a blanket over him. He pressed a kiss to his head and watched him anxiously for a few minutes before going back downstairs. As he travelled down the house he slammed Joffre's wardrobe door and bedroom door shut.

**November 1953**

The Geffen family were celebrating a muted Hanukkah. Mattai had tried to convince his two children to play a game of Dreidel but they were more interested in watching television.

It had nearly been enough to send Mattai into one of his increasingly common fits of rage, but tonight he had managed to calm himself back down. It was an important part of the year for the Jewish people and Mattai was aware that he had been unlike himself recently and that he had alienated his own family; he did not want to continue the pattern, he wanted things to improve and get back to how they once were.

The Geffens had one black and white TV in their sitting room. In their old neighbourhood not many people had such a luxurious item and the family had been subjected to a lot of abuse. Since moving to Italy, specifically a swanky district outside of Rome, all the families had televisions and so they had not been abused for being richer than anyone else.

But that wasn't to say they were not resented.

He knew his children did not want to play, or even light the candles on the Hanukiah, because they were ashamed of their own culture and identity. They were undoubtedly being abused for their Jewish heritage, and his own behaviour had not helped matters.

He went to his wife who was making Latkes in kitchen. He hugged her from behind, smelling her sweet hair. She was a beauty, buxom and healthily round, with long black hair that fell in long curls, tan skin that seemed resistant to age and large pale green eyes. He was lucky to have as a wife, a woman who had stuck with him throughout their hardships, throughout the prejudice, throughout the recent lack of funds and with his bad temper.

"The children are unhappy," she murmured as he kissed her cheek. "They say the children at school laugh at them. They want to celebrate Christmas, not Hanukah."

"If there was a Jewish school I could send them to I would," he answered, "but Burckhardt's School for Excellence is the best school in the county. I doubt they would receive less racism in a local comprehensive."

"Maybe," she turned back to look at him, "maybe we could go somewhere else?"

"Move? Again? Sarah, you know we cannot afford this! All the money is in this house."

"This house," she looked around, "I swear it has been our undoing."

"Our undoing has been the conflict in the Home Land."

"America may be friendly to us."

"Lies, they are not friendly. They dislike the Jew as much as anyone else, and with this so-called war they are all crazy now. It's the same with Britain. No, southern Europe is the best. We are still close enough to the East to return home quickly should we ever need to."

Sarah finished off her Latkes and put them on a plate. "I was talking to a neighbour today. She is the only one on the street who will speak to me. She said that a woman, an American, was killed by her husband in this house. That they were overcome with paranoia about the Russians and went crazy." She looked at him, "I do not believe this. I think there is something wicked in this house. I think it killed the American woman."

"Why would you think that?" He tried to scoff but found he couldn't. Her words resonated within him. There was something off about the house. When they had first arrived they had felt so happy, so full of hope for a change in their circumstances but somehow things had gotten even more difficult.

"I feel uneasy here." She answered slowly, knowing she could not fully explain how she knew the house was evil, "I am isolated. We are isolated. We have no friends. We have no allies. We are in danger. Even you...you are different sometimes. You talk in your sleep. You are always restless. There is a rage in you now, an anger. It is as if something is feeding it's fury into you and then you release it. You scream at me and the children, you frighten us sometimes!"

She picked up the plate and left the kitchen in a hurry, her husband followed her into the foyer, took her arm and turned her so that she faced him again. They stood in front of the front door. The foyer was dimly lit, as the house often was, making Sarah's hair appear such an inky black that it belonged in a renaissance painting more than real life.

"This is just because of where we have come from." He said reasonably, "We are both having flashbacks and bad memories of our old lives but that will change. I'm probably suffering from the previous shock and horrors we endured. We were in danger before but now we are safe. I will get better. We just need to play the game. We need to act as these people. Get along with them, keep ourselves free from any reproach. They will soon come to respect us, even like us."

"And how many years will that take?" she said in frustration, "prejudice never e-"

She never got to finish her sentence because at that moment something was thrown through the glass above the door and hit her on the face.

Blood spattered instantly against the wall opposite.

She fell to the ground heavily, just as the children ran out of the living room. They both stared in horror. Dark red blood pooled around her head. The side of her face that had been hit, the only side showing as she was lying on her side, was disfigured and bloody.

Their daughter backed away and covered her mouth whilst their son ran to the door and ripped it open.

"Cowards!" he screamed in the streets, "bigoted cowards!" He ran out, screaming abuse. No one tried to stop him.

Mattai walked stiffly up to Sarah, and then bent to lifted her head. They had thrown a large brick, one with a piece of paper tied on to it. The word 'KiKes' scrawled on with a black felt tip pen. It was so juvenile and so petty. Tears welled in his eyes and fell on to his wife's face. With a shaking hand he felt for a pulse. There was none.

His daughter Rebekah was already on the phone desperately calling the police. Her accent was still strong; they would know she was Jewish. That would mean that no officer was going to rush out to help them. They were on their own. No justice would be served.

Mattai bowed his head and wept. His wife was dead.

**Present Day**

In the kitchen a large tray of sandwiches lay in the middle of the table. Juan was eating voraciously whilst telling jokes to Lucrezia and Rodrigo, who were choking with laughter. It seemed all his earlier hysterics were forgotten, apart from when he glanced at Cesare when he arrived in the kitchen a hint of distaste coloured him gaze.

Cesare ignored them to help his mother fill the glasses with juice. "Did Juan tell you Joffre was fine?"

"Yes, he said he was asleep in the wardrobe," she chuckled warmly, "silly boy. I suppose I over panicked. I looked all over and was actually beginning to scream his name until Juan came running down the hall. He nearly knocked me over. God knows how no one heard me screaming! It's funny though," she put the glasses on a tray, "Joffre was always afraid of in closed spaces at home. He never would have gone inside a wardrobe and fallen asleep."

They walked over to the table and joined the other members.

"We should do this more often," sighed Vanozza looking proudly at her family.

"We used to," said Lucrezia, "we always had dinner together before..."

She trailed off and things became awkward. She was correct, the family had always eaten their evening meal together. But then Rodrigo began having affairs, first with women at his workplace, then later with his foster daughter. He began to miss meals and the children all lost interest because if father had better things to do then so did they. For the last two years or so, evening meals were attended to by only Vanozza and little Joffre.

"Well, that is a tradition we'll start again," smiled Rodrigo. "They'll be no late nights at the office for me because I'll work from home. I'll meet clients in that front room, on the right hand side in the foyer."

"I thought that was the living room?"

"I thought we could use one of the backrooms for that," he said to Vanozza, "the sales woman said that it was a drawing room. I'm not sure what that is but I'm certain no one's actually needed a drawing room since Jane Austen's time period."

Vanozza nodded, "very well."

"Is it true that we have to wear a uniform in our new school?" piped up Juan.

All three children whined when their parents answered the affirmative.

"It's a good school," griped their father, "we were lucky to get all three of you in at the last minute."

"It's going to be full of stuck up Italian snobs," sighed Juan. "It'll be like how it was before back in Sicily. They'll think we're unrefined and we won't be allowed to fit in with the rest of them."

"Why can't you just let us go to a state school?" sighed Cesare. "I hate how you keep trying to make us something we're not."

"Oh Cesare!" Rodrigo's hackles were up. Lucrezia sighed under her breath and glanced at her mother, who was looking at the table as opposed to her warring family members. "For goodness sake! We're trying to put you in the best positions possible. I want my children to do well in life, like I have. And _what_, exactly, are we _not_?"

Cesare sipped his juice quietly through his father's anger, stifling his own rage before he answered quietly, "We aren't, as Juan said, 'snobbish rich Italians.' Father, we're working class Spaniards. I wish you would understand that and accept it." Cesare began to get louder as his repressed anger bubbled up, "Also, you are not doing this for us, you are doing it for you. You just want to brag to your fake friends about how we're in the best schools, the best universities, the best jobs! You just want to use us to alleviate your social status." He slammed his hand on the table, "God you make me angry!"

"And you make me angry!" countered Rodrigo, "how dare you judge me and think so little of this family! We deserve better and we will get what we deserve because we are smarter than all those 'snobbish Italians.'"

"You do not care that it makes us miserable? That we are laughed at and bullied wherever we go because they see through us and all our over-compensating?"

"Nonsense," Rodrigo shuffled in his chair and grabbed another sandwich, inspecting it as he spoke, "you have to beat them at their own game. It's how you win. They won't be laughing when you are their boss one day," he bit into the sandwich, "and all of you will rule over them. In the meantime, you just have to play the game." Cesare pushed back his chair to leave but Rodrigo stopped him, "no storming off now Cesare," He pointed at Vanozza, "we are respecting your mother's wishes."

Cesare glanced at his mother guiltily and sat back down, moodily picking up his half-eaten sandwich and finishing it off. In turn Vanozza glared at Rodrigo, unhappy that he had used her against their son. The kitchen was quiet with a tense awkwardness that Rodrigo was refusing to acknowledge when a messy-haired sleep seven year old entered the kitchen.

"I'm tired but you woke me up with your shouting," Joffre complained sulkily.

Juan grinned and lifted him up on to his lap. "It's alright," he said jovially, "Princess Cesare was just having another temper tantrum!"

Juan and Rodrigo chuckled as Cesare seethed.

**November 1953**

The Geffens had survived Israel, they had survived the journey to Italy, they had survived abuse and repeated assaults just so their wife and mother could die in an instance because of some cowardly racist with a childish mind.

The anger that had haunted him since his arrival at the house now welled up inside Mattai. A madness descended over him in a haze of red fury as the anger burned through his veins. He stood up, blood on his hands and down his front where Sarah head had rested, and retrieved a rifle they had hidden and locked in their kitchen for protection.

He took it and checked that it was loaded. He then walked into the foyer. Rebekah was weeping over her mother. She was beautiful, she had her mother's eyes but light curly hair like her father. She was too good for this world. What awful things would happen to her? Would they kill her too? Undoubtedly. They would probably rape her before hand as well, just to humiliate her. It was better for him to end it all on his own terms.

Rebekah looked up at him, green eyes full of tears, just before he shot her in the head. Her face exploded and what remained of her fell to the floor in the same heavy fashion as her mother.

Mattai then walked outside. He felt like he wasn't himself. His mind was blank and nothing existed but the rage, the final cold pure anger that people can only feel when things have been taken too far, when the abuse they receive from outsiders snaps their sanity and all they want is to kill everyone, to punish the world for its crimes.

Elijah, fourteen, awkward and gangly, stood in the streets. It was raining. His hair, as black as his dead mother's, was glistening from the heavy rain Mattai hadn't noticed.

"Killers!" Elijah wept, though how he had immediately known his mother was dead was beyond Mattai, "you killers! You cowards!"

Mattai cocked the gun.

Elijah faced him. His dark eyes, full of inexplicable sorrow glanced at the gun. A hint of confusion clouded his large, dark eyes for a moment before Mattai shot him in the stomach, throwing the boy backwards from the force and killing him instantly.

After the echoes on the gun shot died away, the only sound was the heavy rain. Curtains twitched on every household. Lights were turned off as people pretended to not be home or that they were unconscious in bed.

It was appalling; the cowardice and the prejudice and the sad state of the whole thing.

"Are you happy now!" Cried out Mattai after a few minutes of weeping over his life and actions, "us '_Kikes'_ are all dead, just as you wanted. You hadn't the strength to kill us face to face, so you murdered my wife and killed me in the process." His voice broke as something of the real Mattai returned to him and the emotional pain shot through his soul, "Pray to your pagan god for forgiveness!"

He then turned the shotgun at an awkward angle, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger.


	7. 1995: Giovanni Sforza

**1995**

"She left me for the stable boy."

"What?" Catherina blinked in sleepy confusion.

It was four O'clock in the morning. She was standing in her long white night-gown at the front door. Outside, standing in the pouring rain and darkness, was her younger brother Giovanni.

"The fucking stable boy," he spat, "he looks about ten years old, has no money and is an illiterate, yet my fiancé left _me_ for _him_." He bought up a bottle of whisky and took a deep gulp. It was then that the acrid stench of sweat, alcohol, cigarettes and bitterness hit Catherina full force, helping her to fully awaken.

"Come in," she muttered, already feeling weary of the impeding drama.

A few minutes later they were both sitting in the living room. The fireplace was on full blast, and Giovanni's socks, shoes and coat were drying on the clothes rack in the kitchen. He wriggled his toes in the thick carpet and stared the flames. Another shot of whisky was in his hand.

"So she left you," said Catherina after a moment's silence. "I always had the impression you didn't think much of her anyway. It was all a business arrangement after all, wasn't it?"

"Mmm, yes," he grumbled, "her father owned Holy Honey Industries. It seemed like a good idea to combine our two companies so that we could better compete on the market. But she was a silly little bitch. Typical dumb blonde and all that..."

Catherina nodded along, thinking of his fiancé. She hadn't seen much of her, but the woman in question had never struck Catherina as particularly stupid, though perhaps as a bit of a hussy.

"She was too young for you anyway," she said at length, "wasn't she still a teenager? You should get someone older, more sensible."

"She wanted love you know," he continued, evidently not having heard his sister. He snorted and took a sip of piercing whisky, "stupid fool... love? I ask you. She should have known what the deal was. All I wanted was her to be a good wife, be faithful, keep the house clean and be a good mother some day. I never asked for love or even affection. My God... what will I say to the others? I'll be a laughing stock! She at least could have run off with a man of means, which would have been less humiliating at least!"

Catherina yawned. She loved her brother and felt for him, but she was too tired to deal with the pity party. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need to." She said, getting up slowly, "it will be good for my boys to see their uncle, and to have a man around the house for a few days. I'll make up a bed for you."

"Thank you. I can always rely on you." He stood up and looked around the living room. The fire light warmed the heavy woodwork and rich colours of the furniture, "how you can afford this place is beyond me."

"I can't afford it," she smiled softly, her back against the light of the hallway and as always Giovanni was momentarily struck by her graceful beauty, "all of our money is tied up in this house."

"Your husband really screwed you over," he commented darkly.

She nodded, and went up to the second floor. He took one last longing look at the flames, before following her upstairs.

**Present Day**

That evening the family sat watching a family friendly film; Vanozza, unperturbed by the disastrous lunch, was still wanting to do family based activities and film night was to be yet another addition to the family timetable.

Juan was bored, his legs hanging over the chair. He wasn't even watching the screen, instead he was staring out into the foyer. Just across the hall was the door which led down to the basement.

His legs kicked rhythmically against the chair. His mind felt curiously blank. He had wanted to go upstairs to sit in his room, maybe engage in some sexting or listen to music, (Juan did not enjoy being around his family,) but he found that, after they had finished packing the last of their things away, that he was too afraid to be alone in the dark. He knew that the film would end soon and that they would all go to bed. Then he'd be alone. Alone in his room. In the dark.

Thump, thump, thump. His legs bumped softly against the armchair.

No thoughts crossed his mind. There were no feelings, not even fear; he just watched the darkness in the foyer.

Likewise Cesare Borgia was also not watching the film, though he was faking that he was. Instead he kept stealing glances at Lucrezia. The Drawing room lights were off, so the only light emitted was the pale blue of the TV screen. On Lucrezia's pale features it lit her up, illuminating her golden hair and white skin and highlighting her blue eyes.

'Too beautiful,' he thought, his heart hurting because it beat so hard, 'she's much too beautiful. It isn't _fair_.'

Joffre had fallen asleep, his head slumping on to his mother's arm. She glanced down before looking back to Rodrigo and whispering, "he's been very tired today. Do you think he is ill?"

"You worry too much," growled Rodrigo, eyes not leaving the film he was strangely entranced by, "he's had a long journey and a tiring day. Let him rest."

Vanozza felt like arguing, just for the sake of being contrary, but she held her tongue. She had told Rodrigo that she had forgiven him, now she actually needed to, in her heart. She did not like that her children, specifically Cesare, were pulling away from their father. She wasn't sure if he had even noticed, but she had and she did not want any of them growing up emotionally stunted because of their relationship with him. Therefore, it was down to her to see the best in Rodrigo, as she always had done, and to convince her children that he was a good and worthy man.

The credits began to roll and Rodrigo announced, "well time for bed I think."

"It's only 9:40," complained Juan without feeling.

"It's been a long day," he repeated, " I want you all to finish whatever packing is left tomorrow and to help us begin decorating. You start school on Monday. We all need plenty of sleep because it is going to be a busy few days."

Cesare rolled his eyes and stalked out. Lucrezia caught up with him and slid her arm into his. She leaned into him and he enjoyed the feeling of her body pressingly slightly against his own.

"Today has been tough," she muttered, "how are you? Daddy hasn't made you too cross?"

"No," he kissed her head. "Father frustrates me. But if he can make mom happy again then maybe I can forgive him someday."

Lucrezia was silent as they ascended the stair, but as they reached her door she asked, "but is that really why you're angry with him?"

"What do you mean?"

As soon as he asked Juan came passed, carrying Joffre in his arms. Cesare looked away from him, which made Juan roll his eyes, even as he spared a genuine smile to Lucrezia.

She returned it before pulling Cesare into her bedroom.

Lucrezia jumped onto her bed, but he opted to sit on her chair instead.

"I think you're jealous of Juan."

He laughed, "why would I be jealous of him? He's an idiot."

"Daddy loves him."

Cesare shifted uncomfortably but said nothing.

"You should know," she said at last, "that he loves you too."

Still Cesare said nothing. He was ashamed to feel a slight prickling in his eyes. Rodrigo did not love him. He loved Juan. And Juan was stupid and loud and obnoxious, but still father loved him more.

And if someone like Juan was more lovable to a parent, then what kind of creature was Cesare?

'I'm all wrong,' Cesare thought, 'father knows I'm all wrong, on some level he knows how twisted I am, and that's why he loves Juan and my sweet sister and Joffre not me.' But he couldn't tell her that, because it was too close to voicing all his secret thoughts and passions which he hadn't yet been fully able to admit to himself.

Never realising how she made things harder, Lucrezia got up from her bed and walked over to him in an almost predatory manner, hinting at how in the future she would be quite a seductress, before sitting on his lap daintily. She put her arms around his neck and kissed his face a number of times before whispering, "he loves you. The same way I love you, so does daddy. Please believe it. I don't like you being angry with him and Juan. Believe me when I say daddy loves you, he does."

Cesare didn't believe her, but being in her embrace was so sweet he decided to remain silent and still.

**1995**

Catherina put Giovanni in their guest room. It was painted a Spanish red, which she didn't like, she thought it was too strong a colour, she preferred subtle pale pastels, but she hadn't been able to change that room yet.

Giovanni lay stiffly. It was still raining outside but it seemed to be abating a little. He ground his teeth; he couldn't stop thinking about that bitch about how she had betrayed. It was the humiliation he couldn't stand, he didn't care if she wanted to leave, if she didn't love him, or like him, or even if she had found the sex unsatisfactory; he didn't care about any of this because he didn't care about her. But he didn't care about is reputation.

She had just annihilated it with her infidelity.

Everyone would think he was sexually inefficient, that he was so bad at pleasing a woman that his young, virile wife had preferred the arms of a boy with no money or status. It was more than he could bear.

"Bitch!" he muttered, "stupid bitch! Whore! Dog of a whore!"

This was no good. He was never going to sleep. He needed another drink

He got up out of bed and wandered outside into the dimly lit hallway. He marched downstairs and helped himself to the brandy he found in the kitchen. He gulped it down.

By the time the sun began to rise, he was completely wasted.

Streaks of pink and white began to lighten the sky. But Giovanni did not recognise the beauty of it. He was still angry, angry and drunk.

He walked back up to the first floor and wandered into a room, thinking it was his own.

It was not.

Inside the floors were not red but a pretty off-white. Blue and black flowers were painted on the walls.

A large four poster bed lay in the middle.

There was groan, a soft, feminine sigh of a young girl.

'That bitch,' he thought, 'I'll show her. It'll be like those first few months, when I had to break her in.'

He pulled off his boxers and walked drunkenly to the bed. He was sober enough to harden, just long enough to teach her a lesson at least!

Sancia, a beautiful girl with long dark hair, the oldest child of Catherina Sforza let out a gasp of shock when she awoke to find her uncle leering over her.

But it was too late. He did not see her, he saw his wife. His young, pretty, fair wife.

He put a heavy hand over her mouth and told her, "shut up and take it, like the little slut you are."

**Present Day**

It was about midnight. Juan Borgias was sitting on his bed. His light was still on. His room was red. He felt like he was sitting in a room in hell.

Unwanted images haunted him. The shriek that had assaulted his and his brother's ears echoed in his mind.

Shaking his head, he checked a small wooden case in which he kept his marijuana. There was hardly anything left. He had smoked enough for a week. Juan didn't use a lot, just now and then for recreational purposes. He knew that Cesare had already guessed what he was up to, and didn't approve, but considering his brother frequently salivated over their sister like a complete pervert, Juan didn't think Cesare deserved to take any moral high ground over smoking a bit of pot.

He set up a hasty spliff, and inhaled the smoke deeply. God he needed to relax! If he could just get some sleep, that would be better than nothing.

Outside it began to rain heavily, the drops of water being hurled against his window. Thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed across the sky, casting the silhouette of the outside trees against Juan's blood red walls.

His pupils dilated and his eyes reddened slightly as the drugs began to work through his body. He imagined he could see shapes in the shadows of the tree branches.

He gulped, suddenly remembering what it was like being a child and convinced the monsters were out to get you. 'I need more than this,' he thought desperately, beginning to sweat, the images of the afternoon still not abating.

Juan got up and opened his bedroom door. He peered out into the hallway. It was a mix of dark blue and black. He stepped out and began to walk down the narrow hallway. Why the bedrooms and hallways were so small compared to the overtly grandiose foyer, downstairs staircase and ground floor rooms was beyond him.

There was another deep rumble from the sky, so deep it seemed to shake the house, and a flash of lightening accompanied it, lighting up the hallway for a moment. In that flash, Juan thought he saw someone at the end of the hall.

He paused and stared. Had he seen someone there? His hand searched the walls for a light switch, but he didn't know where it was. He repressed the urge to cal out if someone was there, he didn't want to act like he was in a stupid horror film.

So instead he continued to move forwards. He must have imagined it, maybe the weed, or maybe his paranoia from earlier.

However, even as he reached the stairs he could not move his eyes away from that particular spot. His felt his eyes straining. Then his heart leapt up into his throat when he realised he could see something moving slightly in the dark.

He backed away, one foot on the first stair.

The air became heavy and tense and Juan felt a dull ringing in his ears. There was a slight whining sound, like a frightened puppy, and it took a moment for him to realise it was him making the noise.

In the darkness something began to take form.

He stared.

Just barely he saw the outline of a shape. Of a body, a tall, thin body.

The lightning flashed again.

There was a person there. Someone with long black hair hanging wet and dirty, like rat tails. Juan's pretty brown eyes met dead black ones.

The thing ran at him, its mouth open revealing black gums and few teeth.

Juan screamed loudly and high-pitched, losing his footing and falling down the stairs.

* * *

**A.N.- A special thanks to LoveyHowl and Marina Ka-Fai for reviewing. Your words have encouraged me, thank you.**


	8. The Park

**Present Day**

The thing was coming down the stairs after him. He could see it. It was wearing a long white nightdress and floating down the stairs with disturbing swiftness. It was like a spider; unnatural speed and too light steps.

Juan screamed and screamed, scrambling to get away but his injured body was unable to move him quickly enough.

Within a few seconds the thing was on top of him, "shut up and take it," she hissed, black blood dribbling from her mouth and distorting her voice, "like the little slut you are!"

**1995**

Catherina woke sharply. Someone was shaking her. A dark skinned boy with light brown eyes.

She shot up in her bed and stared at him in horror.

"Your daughter is in danger!" The boy said, "Quickly, go to her! He won't stop!"

Catherina dove out of bed and ran out of her room and down the stairs. It was early morning, perhaps around six O'clock. As she ran she saw occasional faces around her. Most looked frightened and concerned, and that deeply worried her.

She almost ran into a blonde haired woman who was wearing an outfit from the 1950's and who had appeared in the middle of hallway suddenly.

"She's in her bedroom," said the woman, "I'm so sorry!"

Catherina ripped open Sancia's room. She stared for a single moment before letting out an ear shattering scream.

**Present Day**

Everyone, apart from Cesare and Joffre, heard Juan's terrified shrieks and ran off their respective room. (Joffre had heard Juan, but had fallen straight back to sleep.)

The lights were all switched on, a Lucrezia was the first to find Juan lying at the foot of the grand stairs. His arm was bent at a strange angle, and there was some blood coming from his scalp.

Crying out his name she ran to him and cradled his head on her lap, "Oh Juan!" she wept, "Please tell me you're alright!"

He opened his eyes and grasped her arm, "I don't want to stay here," he whispered, "I'm frightened! I'm frightened!"

"But of what?" she muttered, not understanding, as her parents fell to his side. They began to fuss, and he fell silent. Rodrigo flapped a little, but Vanozza kept her cool and eventually he calmed down, managing (quite admirably) to not only lift up Juan but carry him into the backseat of their family car. Vanozza took Joffre from his room, the boy complaining and rubbing his eyes, and rushed off to hospital. With all the drama, Cesare had been woken up, but he never even got to see Juan before the family had driven away to the closest A and E.

By mid-morning, the only people in the house were Cesare and Lucrezia.

"I suppose we won't be decorating like mom and father had hoped," said Cesare grabbing a plate in the kitchen.

"It was frightening," answered Lucrezia, "seeing Juan like that. He was scared; he looked like a wild animal. I'm not sure he'll want to come back here. I'm not sure what's happened to him to make him like that."

"He fell down the stairs," Cesare sat opposite her with a plate of biscuits they were to share, a glass of milk between them, "and he fell down in the dark. That's what scared him."

She pursed her lips and shook her head, "no, it wasn't like shock or anything. It was more than that. It was as if he'd seen a ghost."

Cesare gave an odd, secretive little smirk that made her insides squirm slightly, "well...maybe he had."

"Knock, knock," an obnoxious voice suddenly called out.

The siblings both looked at the kitchen doorway, startled to see Alfonso leaning against the frame with a soft smirk on his lips.

"It's only been one night and someone's been taken to hospital," he drawled, "that's record time. Most of the other families were here for at least a month before they started getting seriously injured."

"Who are you?"

"This is Alfonso," Cesare answered his sister, before Alfonso could introduce himself. "He and his mother came around yesterday. They were uninvited then also."

"He's very churlish, your brother," Alfonso glowered at Cesare (who had his back to him) before smiling benevolently at Lucrezia, "you're the only person I've seen him give a kind word to," he strolled into the kitchen, appraising her, "not that I'm surprised, you are very beautiful."

"She's my sister," barked Cesare, finally turning around to face his neighbour.

"Oh," Alfonso smiled strangely, leaned in and added quietly, "would that be enough to stop you?"

Cesare punched him in the face.

**1995**

Giovanni Sforza awoke in the park. There was a fair amount of blood on his clothes and fists. He knew they'd be plenty on his privates.

"Shit," he spat onto the ground.

Catherina's oldest was a little whore, everyone knew that. Maybe he could say that she had seduced him? She probably would have tried to anyway, at some point, because that was the kind of girl she was. It definitely wasn't his fault over what had gone down the night before. He didn't even remember a lot of it.

**Present day**

On impact of Cesare's fist meeting his face, Alfonso had been hurled into the floor. His nose broke and blood gushed from it. He touched the blood and looked at it, slightly amazed. The pain was pretty horrible. It reminded him of when he used to get bulled by Rufio and that other kid (whatever his name was.) Still it wasn't all bad, as this time as he lay bleeding and stupid on the ground, a beautiful young maiden was at his side asking him (rather idiotically really) if he was alright.

"What do you _think_ Blondie?" he answered gruffly.

Lucrezia looked up at Cesare with an expression not dissimilar to the one Vanozza wore whenever Juan had really pissed her off.

Normally Cesare would have mocked someone like Alfonso, but now he felt a deep pool of shame in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm sorry!" he ground out without sincerity, "I didn't mean to..." he looked at Lucrezia, at her innocent blue eyes and pale skin. "He said something about us...about me...and ..." a blush began to appear and he found that he simply couldn't say anymore. Instead he ran into the foyer, grabbed his black denim jacket and ran outside.

He walked down the road, not knowing the area at all, until he found himself looking at a large area of grass, a children's park further in it. He saw a few people milling about, having picnics or playing ball or walking their dogs.

Cesare wandered into it, finding a shady quiet spot under a large oak tree. He began to take deep breaths, trying to control his temper. Cesare had found that as he got older, he seemed to be getting angrier. He didn't know if it was something to do with his growing desire for his sister, or if there was some sort of hereditary disease that ran through all the males in his family which meant that as they grew up all of them became stupid, horny and violent.

He thought of Juan. 'Oh god, please don't say I'll end up like him,' he thought fervently.

"Sinners!" a deep voice suddenly wailed. Cesare jumped slightly and looked around with wide eyes. Everyone in the park had stopped moving and all were staring up at a man who stood in the middle of the path. He had a sign around his neck with words written in red which Cesare could not see clearly. He was a tall, rotund man with a bald head and wearing what looked like second-hand clothes. He looked like a homeless person.

"Repent," the man bellowed, "repent for your sins. The End Of Days is already at our doorstep! Demonic evil haunt our every step! It is in every shadow, in every crevice. It is in your filthy minds! It encourages your sin and debauchery. You have failed your Lord and now there is hell to pay!"

People began moving again, all inching around the man shouting, not making eye contact with him. He continued anyway, pointing at them as they passed. "Your sins are made clear to me! The angels come to me in my sleep and tell me the disgusting things you think about! How you touch yourselves and pleasure yourselves to these thoughts! Homosexuality, paedophilia, rape, bestiality," he looked up at Cesare, "incest!"

A heavy blush burst on to Cesare's face. The man was staring right at him! How did he know? Was there some truth in what he was saying?

Feeling frightened and disturbed, Cesare stood up and began to walk away.

"Oh the shame of it!" he could hear the man shouting behind him, "the shame of your thoughts! You will bring death and destruction upon us all! Sodom and Gomorrah, that is what Rome has become!"

The voice faded away until the words were unintelligible. Cesare leaned again the wall of the park, putting his hand to his heart and feeling it beat heavily.

Had the old preacher known about him or was it just bad luck and his own paranoia? The preacher had mentioned evil hiding in the darkness, and that made Cesare think back to the incident yesterday with Juan in the basement. Juan clearly was not coping with, whatever the hell they saw, but Cesare had always been more level headed of the brothers. Whilst he hadn't understood it either, he wasn't afraid of it. He had made the decision to never go into the basement again however.

"But I've left Lucrezia home alone," he realised, "she might go down in the basement, or whatever was in there may come out." He started to run back to the house, "I suppose that neighbour is there, but I don't trust him...there's something off about that boy."

Xxx

"I'm sorry about Cesare," Lucrezia patched up Alfonso nicely.

"Quite alright," he drawled.

She brushed her hand through his hair, checking for any lumps or bumps where he had fallen. She didn't feel any, but she notice something about his scalp.

"Your scalp," she said to him, "have you a skin condition? It looks very sore. It almost looks like it's been burnt."

Alfonso lifted his hand to grip hers. "I'm fine," he said firmly, "but I am not here for a social call. I tried to warn your brother yesterday. You need to be careful in this house."

"Why?"

"Because it's haunted."

Lucrezia laughed until she saw Alfonso was being serious.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, a smile still on her lips, "but we don't believe in stuff like that."

"Well maybe you should do some research, check out the history of the house and what's happened to its previous owners." He got up to leave, "I don't want your brother to see me when he returns, but I'll come back later to see you. Tell me what you believe after you've done some investigating."

He walked out of the kitchen and she chased after him, but when she stepped into the foyer, the front door was already closing and he was gone.

"Strange," she thought, "he moved quickly." She looked up the grand staircase and wandered if she should follow his advice. It seemed silly. She didn't believe in ghosts but something about his conviction did disturb her a little. There was a sound, and a moment later a small tennis ball hit the side of her foot gently.

She picked it up. Where had that come from? She began to walk towards the stairs slowly, when she heard a long creaking sound.

Looking to the side she saw a small door opening by itself. She walked down to the end of the foyer and looked in it. There were steps leading down into the darkness.

A basement.

She closed the door. She didn't want to go peeking around down there on her own, there might be rodents or something else frightening in the shadows.

She walked away, bouncing the ball on the floor idly.

_Crrrreeeeaakkk!_

Lucrezia turned to see the door had opened again. She shrugged. If the door wanted to stay open fine. She marched upstairs, trying to ignore the feeling of unease.

She took her mobile out her jeans pocket and began to ring Cesare. The tune to his phone could be heard playing in the kitchen. Great, so now she had no way of contacting him. Rolling her eyes she tried her parents, but neither of them picked up either, which made sense as they were in hospital.

Then, '_Commes des enfants'_ began to play loudly. Someone was in her room! The music stopped as suddenly as it started, as if someone had accidentally turned it on.

Her heart in her throat, Lucrezia began to inch forwards towards her room. She thought of the strange man she'd thought she'd seen the day before in the garden. He'd seemed so aggressive and frightening, especially when he'd glanced up at her.

She pushed open her bedroom door and stepped inside carefully. Everything looked the same as she had left it that morning...except...she paled...except the bed.

The bed, which she had tidied that morning, was now a mess. The bed sheets were crumpled and the quilt was thrown haphazardly, as if someone sleeping in the bed had just gotten out of it.

Lucrezia climbed up onto the bed, inspecting it closely. A long black hair was on the pillow, it stood out on the white pillow, and trailed off underneath the quilt. That certainly did not belong to her. She pulled the hair, expecting for it to slide up, but it didn't. Instead she could feel that there was something heavy at the end of it. There was something under the quilt. Heart beating even harder, she slowly pulled the cover away.

There was a girl under the sheets, only her eyes were open and glassy and she was covered in blood.

Lucrezia screamed mightily and threw herself backwards onto the bedroom floor.

The dark haired girl sat up. Her eyes were still vacant and glassy as she turned slowly to look at Lucrezia. Lucrezia pushed herself further back until she hit the wall. She wasn't screaming now, but her jaws were clenched together and she was letting out a low, animalistic groaning sound.

The girl twisted out of bed, literally, her upper body twisting around in an unnatural manner. Blood soaked her clothes, particularly around her crotch and belly.

She slowly ambled up to Lucrezia, who felt like she was going quite insane. Slowly the girl reached down and took the ball that was still in Lucrezia's hand.

Lucrezia felt the cold, sticky fingers of the dead girl. Long black hair brushed again her own pale skin. Lucrezia closed her eyes and breathed heavily. She did not open her eyes or move at all until she felt Cesare shaking her and calling her name.

* * *

**A.N. Who's the guy from the park? *Hint* He never made it to season 3.**


	9. 1995: Christmas with the Sforzas

**A.N.- I've noticed in past chapters that I've made silly spelling errors or written things that don't quite make sense. If you see any errors, please point them out, I won't be offended and it means I can fix them more quickly :) I'm not very good at proof reading you see, so apologies for any reading difficulties you may have experienced.**

**Thank you for all the reviews, they've been lovely! 3**

**This is a Past chapter and we get to see another character from the show, yay! :3 We're getting into the plot now, and hopefully you'll guy will start to notice a few patterns, as well as getting a firm grip on the timeline.**

* * *

December 1995

Giovanni Sforza hadn't spoken to any family member in many months. He remembered with a grimace how his sister had reacted to the unfortunate incident between himself and his niece.

But now he sat outside the large Victorian terrace once more. Like future home owner Paolo Orsini would in 2011, Giovanni sat in the car smoking and staring at the home and its grounds. It was winter now. The snow fell silently out of a cruel white sky. A dead bird lay on the frozen white garden. Giovanni sucked at his cigarette, remembering the flashes of the aftermath with Sancia.

He remembered her lying on the bed, covered in red, lush and injured against the pure white quilt and sheets. It was a travesty really. He shouldn't have done it. On a deeper level, the small part of him that wasn't a complete coward, he knew that he had been wrong. He had hurt her. She had lain there, broken and still, just like the bird.

After his sister had lashed out at him like a tiger, scratching at his cheek as he tried to give his excuses, and scarring him permanently in the process, Giovanni did the only decent thing and swore to stay out of their lives forever. Only now, after five months, he was back.

It was a moral grey area for him. On the one hand he wanted to stay away. His sister had placed three claw marks on his face, and it would take plastic surgery to remove them. He didn't want to see Sancia again, let alone her siblings. Giovanni had always found Catherina's kids kind of weird and creepy, especially since they had moved into the new house. He had always assumed it was the lack of a man in the house. Would they know what he had done? Had their mother told them? He didn't want to see their accusing stares or deal with any of their weird hostility.

But on the other hand he wanted to go in because he had a right to be there. He had heard that Sancia was pregnant. Giovanni had never been paternal and had never particularly wanted children (though he had always assumed that he would have them one day, as they could be people that would look after him in old age and take on his business after he was gone,) but since finding out he was a father (or soon would be) he decided that it was his and the child's right for him to be involved in Sancia and Catherina's lives once more. After all, they would no doubt be after child support (fucking women were all greedy whores) and if he was paying for the damned kid then he was sure as hell going to see him and have a large share in raising the boy.

A child had the right to see two parents. If Sancia and her mother didn't like it then they simply needed to get over it.

Steeling himself against his formidable sister (she really should have been born a man, she was wasted as a woman,) he stepped out of his car and began to walk to the house. The snow crunched under his feet like gravel.

He flung his cigarette to the side, not caring that he was littering the home of his sister and her children. He knocked on the door and began to feel a bit more positive. Being a father was probably the life change he needed. Life had been particularly tough for him over the last year and he deserved something nice in his life. A baby boy would be fantastic. A baby girl...well...

Giovanni grimaced. He wouldn't much fancy a girl, but it wouldn't be all bad. He'd leave the girl mostly with her mother. But if it were a boy he was definitely getting full (or at least half) custody of the child.

All along the street were the dull lights of Christmas. He couldn't help but notice that Christmas was always a subdued affair in this area. On the street he had seen a pile of flowers and one of those funny Jewish candles being piled up as a sort of memorial to someone. He guessed someone had died, perhaps been run over or something. Perhaps the street was subdued because ostentatious displays were somewhat insensitive in the wake of death.

He rolled his eyes and rung the doorbell again. He would like it if Christmas was always subdued. It was a stupid, expensive holiday and everyone (except small children) absolutely hated it but felt like they had to enjoy it. It was so forced Giovanni felt irritated by it. He was always a man who understood and felt comfortable in and with misery. Misery was real.

He was about to ring the bell again when someone finally answered the door. It was little Alfonso.

The boy stared up at him through his heavy fringe. Giovanni stared back; he'd always disliked Alfonso the most. Alfonso was a weirdo. The biggest weirdo he'd ever known.

"MOM!" The boy suddenly shrieked in his ridiculously, irritatingly high pitched voice, "THAT MAN IS HERE!"

The child ran away from the front door, Giovanni followed him into the foyer, and the boy ran down into a small doorway which, by what he remembered, led down to the basement. Why would a child willingly go into a basement for no reason?

Giovanni rolled his eyes. His son wasn't going to end up like that freak; he definitely was getting custody.

"You dare show your face in my home."

Giovanni looked up to the top of the stairs. Catherina stood there, the hall light on behind her, lighting her up. Her hair almost looked red, and her eyes were darker than normal. She looked a little demonic.

Slowly she walked down the stairs, her hand gripping the banister.

"I've heard Sancia," he begun, finding the name of his niece sticking in his throat slightly, "is pregnant. I have a right to be here, I'm the father."

Catherina arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Her eyes had heavy bags under them and her skin was pale. He'd never seen her looking so tired and washed out. Was it his fault?

"You're the father?" She repeated with soft incredulity, a cruel smile on her lips, "yet I distinctly remember you telling me, after you violated her, that she was a common tramp, a slut, and that she was whoring around with everyone. You said that you were simply her latest victim. So how could you know you're the father? It could be any number of men."

That was a good point. "Well we can have a DNA test after the child is born."

"Then until it is born you should leave."

"You might run off in that time, hide her away. I won't risk it. I need to be involved from now."

For a moment pure unadulterated rage appeared on Catherina's features. Every pore seethed vicious anger.

And then it was gone.

Her cool, calm mask returned with such speed that it disturbed Giovanni more than anything else. Was she completely mad?

"Very well," she said, before he could work up the courage to ask her. "You want to take the child away from the house when it's born no doubt?"

He nodded.

"Alright. Until it is born you may stay with us. But you leave her alone. And you go nowhere near my other daughters. In fact, stay away from my sons as well."

He bristled, "I'm not a paedophile!"

"Yes, yes you are. Now if you don't mind I am quite unwell, I must retire back to bed."

She walked slowly up stairs and for a moment she reminded him of Lady Macbeth, genius and madness and evil tangled into a ball of beauty.

He looked around after she disappeared from sight. What was he to do with his time?

Giovanni walked into the living room and sat down. The style had changed from the last time he had been here. Before the house had been under renovation, and Catherina liked white walls and smooth lines, so the house had looked quite modern. But now the living room was quite old fashioned, almost as if reverting back in time. Even the fancy new television (complete with its own DVD player!) was gone and was replaced with an old fashioned box set. It was like a room full of antiques.

He looked at the t screen and felt around for a remote. In the black screen he could see a face, but it was not his own. Frowning, he stopped feeling around for a remote and stared forwards.

"What on Earth...?"

The face was a figure, a figure standing behind him. He turned around, expecting one of Catherina's creepy kids to be there, but there was no one.

What was going on? He looked back at the tv screen, the figure was still there. Only now the figure was rocking from side to side slightly. He got up from the chair and stared at the black screen. The figure was a woman with blonde hair. She was looking at him.

He felt the hairs on his arms rising, and sweat broke out over his body. He looked behind him again. Nothing was there.

'I'm being stupid,' he thought. 'There has to be an explanation for this. But for now...' he switched on the television. A black and white show was playing. Going by the laughter track it was one of those ditzy old fashioned comedies. Giovanni didn't like comedy in general, but he decided that he didn't care, and sat back down on the settee.

'But... You're a woman!' stammered the male character.

'Yes,' smiled the woman, 'my husband likes me that way.

Giovanni shifted in his chair. The room suddenly felt cold. He glanced at the windows. They were closed. The light turned off. Giovanni tutted and got up, looking up at the bulb. He went to walk over to the light switch, when he saw two figures standing in front of it.

One had hair done up and a dress on. She was clearly a woman. The other had long hair, but its shape was not as clear.

"Catherina?" he called, "is that you?"

One of the figures, the smaller, less defined one of the two, lifted her arm and switched the light back on. It was a heavily pregnant Sancia standing alone.

"Where was the woman who was with you?" he asked.

She stared at him. Her eyes were very dark and huge dark shadows hung beneath them. She was a ghastly pale (where before she had been very tan, but to having a part-Indian father). She looked like a character from a Tim Burton film. She wore a long white gown. Her belly was huge. In fact it looked too big.

"How many months pregnant are you?" he asked suspiciously, suddenly doubting his parenthood.

"The house," she muttered, her voice distant and strange, "it's making me give birth earlier than it should."

"What are you on about? Has everyone gone completely off the rails?!"

"It's going to be twins," she said by way of an answer, "but being in this house, and conceived as they were, I can't see them being normal. I blame you. I'm going to die in child birth, I already know this. And then the children will be claimed by this house. This house claims us all."

With that she turned slowly and then drifted out of the living room, turning off lights as she went.

"What's the matter with you?"said a voice from the television, "are you _crazy_ or something?"

He felt eyes upon him. He turned around quickly but saw no one was there. The show was coming to a close, though the audience were still laughing hysterically.

There was a slight whispering in the corner, but he couldn't see anyone there. Deciding he'd had enough he walked out of the living room. He went across the dark foyer and into the kitchen. There he turned on the kettle.

'It's just anxiety about being a father,' he decided, 'it's making me nervous. The strange behaviour of the family is just adding to it.'

He wanted a beer, but he knew there wouldn't be any, and he didn't relish a repeat of what happened last time. A hot drink would help take out the chill from his bones.

Something tapped against his shoe. He looked down and saw a tennis ball. He picked it up and looked at the kitchen door. The foyer light was off so all he saw was darkness.

"Alfonso!" He called, "are you out there?"

"No." The voice that answered him was too low and too old to be Alfonso. Benito slid out of the shadows. He was wearing his usual Brit Punk inspired clothing.

"Benito," Giovanni relaxed a little. Benito, despite his tastes in music and bizarre dreams of being a famous rockstar, was the most ordinary and likeable of Catherina's kids. "How are you?"

The brown haired boy slunk into the kitchen, holding the hand of a small curly haired toddler.

"Ah, little Ascanio, I haven't seen him in a while." Giovanni looked over the sullen faced baby. "He's growing up fast. Doesn't seem as cheerful as he used to be."

"Mother says Ascanio is very mature." Benito sat down and pulled up the toddler onto his lap. "She thinks that he has been in this world before. That he is now living his second, third or fourth life."

"What, like that Buddhist belief?"

"Reincarnation, yeah. She thinks Ascanio is an old soul."

"Right," Giovanni resisted rolling his eyes. Their family had always been good Catholics and he saw no reason why eastern airy fairy non-religions needed to be introduced to the family tree, "Are you still into your music, still going to be famous one day?" He sniggered a little.

"I don't know," Benito looked up at him, "if I ever get out of this house, yes, maybe."

Giovanni made himself a hot chocolate (without bothering to ask Benito if he wanted one, or if he should make one for his younger brother) and sat down opposite the boys. "Of course you'll get out of the house one day," he took a sip of his hot chocolate, and relished the warmth.

"The house doesn't like people to leave."

Giovanni shrugged and said that he didn't know what Benito was talking about. The kitchen light flickered erratically for a few moments. "There's a real electricity problem in this house."

"The house likes darkness," Benito said in that strange inflectionless tone he had acquired.

Giovanni slammed down his cup, spilling a bit of his drink. "Enough of this!" he demanded, "what is this nonsense with you lot referencing the house as if it were alive? Are you trying to frighten me? Because childish tactics like this don't work on me. I'm sorry about Sancia, but she should learn to close her legs. I was drunk for crying out loud, it was hardly my fault!"

The tennis ball, seemingly from nowhere, suddenly fell onto the table and bounced up and down for a few times before landing in Giovanni's lap.

He frowned and baby Ascanio let out a bubbly baby laugh.

Giovanni snapped. He got up and stormed out into the foyer. He was leaving. He would return in the morning perhaps. He ripped open the front door and saw a boy standing there. He was pretty. An Asian child. A Muslim, Giovanni presumed. He looked in pain, and was soaking wet, as if he had been in a deluge.

"I need help!" he said.

Giovanni looked around the street, "from what?" he looked down but the boy was gone. There were no footprints on the snow. There was no sign the boy was ever there. He frowned in confusion. Had he imagined the boy standing there?

_Crrreeeeaaaak!_

Giovanni turned around. In the darkness he could just about see that the basement door had opened. Alfonso was probably coming out of it. Giovanni didn't wait around to see. He stepped outside, slammed the front door shut and began to walk to his car. As he did, the cigarette which he had carelessly thrown early began to spark up and smoke slightly once more.

He climbed into his car and began to drive out, when he saw that the garden gate was locked.

He got back out of the car and looked at the gate. A complex series of chains had been wrapped around it. There was no way he could unlock it.

"Who has done this!" he whispered angrily.

He looked back up at the house. He could see figures peering out of the windows. Many figures, more than just Catherina and her children.

Giovanni gulped, and wondered if he could perhaps climb over the gate. That was stupid, of course he couldn't, it was too high. He also did not like feeling like he was some sort of coward. He wasn't a coward. He wasn't a paedophile. He wasn't a rapist. He was just...unfortunate and hot tempered and misunderstood.

He shuddered in the cold. He had been in such a rush that he hadn't even thought to take his coat with him. In the sky above, two crows flew onto the house. He followed them and saw that an entire flock of crows were on the roof, all peering down at him.

The snow had stopped falling and the sky was a deep blue. It would soon be night time.

'_I'm going to be stuck in this house,'_ he thought with genuine fear.

_The house doesn't like people to leave_, isn't that what his nephew said just now? Giovanni frowned. Was it some sort of trick, were the children playing some sort of cruel prank on him, in revenge for Sancia? He wouldn't put it past them.

"Well I won't fall for it!" he complained loudly. He stomped back towards the house. His cigarette, now glowing slightly, rolled across to where the remains of a winter ravaged bush stood. Together they began to burn lightly.

Giovanni made the second biggest mistake of his life, and began to walk back into the house.


	10. History

**December 2011**

Roberto was alone in the house again. He was sitting in the living room, now fully decorated as if it were Christmas in the early fifties, and stared out the window into the dark garden. He saw Giovanni Sforza standing in the bushes, smoking a cigarette and looking furious.

Roberto blinked slowly, 'if he's here again,' he thought, his words drifting through his mind like smoke, 'then that means she…'

He stood up and walked outside into the foyer. A tennis ball rolled up to him and bumped against his foot. He picked it up and smiled. The basement door was open just a crack.

Roberto strode towards it confidently and pulled open the door. He threw the tennis ball down the stairs and peered into the darkness. The Thing that lived down there shifted in the shadows.

"You little rapscallion!" called Roberto jovially, a grin on his face, "now be good! I shall come and play with you later if you behave yourself."

He then closed the basement door and bounded upstairs, missing two or three steps out each time. He arrived at the first floor and walked over to what would one day be Lucrezia's room. He stood outside the door and listened. He could hear a soft weeping inside. His face immediately became sad and serious. He knocked on the door and the weeping stopped.

"It's just me," he called, opening the door and peering inside.

He had re-decorated the room. At first he and Paolo had agreed that it would be the library, but then Roberto began turning it into a room for a teenage girl. Paolo had been exasperated and furious but Roberto couldn't explain to him his actions.

In the room sat a girl with long black hair. "I don't understand," she whimpered, turning and looking at him with wide eyes, "I do not recognise my room!"

"I'm turning it back," Roberto said running to her and embracing her tightly, ignoring the fact that she stank of decay. "Soon it will be as you remembered and then you can be happy again."

"Mother never comes to see me," she said against his shoulder, her words slightly muffled.

"I know. You don't need her anyway. She's quite cruel now."

She pulled back and looked at him, "does she have my baby? Do you know?"

He shook his head sadly. "I hardly understand anything anymore."

She put her fingers against his lips and brushed them lightly. "You are a sweet man. Stay with me?"

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I live here so I am staying with you."

"Who are you talking to?"

Roberto leapt to his feet, shaking slightly. The dark haired girl was gone, and in the doorway Paolo was staring at him as if he were completely insane.

"To no one. Just myself. Where have you been?"

"I went to the gym after work," Paolo brushed his hand through long blond hair. He was slightly wet, evidence of a work -out then shower. Roberto doubted the workout had been from doing regular exercise at the gym.

He looked at Paolo for a little while, before brushing past him wordlessly and going downstairs. Paolo rolled his eyes in frustration and followed after him.

"Where are you going?" he called, "are you angry? I don't understand you anymore…"

Roberto turned and looked at him with wide eyes. "No, I'm not angry. Why would you think that? I was going to make dinner. How does lasagne sound? I got it from an old traditional shop. It's all fresh."

He continued to bound down the stairs, Paolo on his tail.

"That sounds nice, you are in a good mood?" Paolo posed it as a question as Roberto entered the kitchen. The kitchen, mercifully had been the one room Roberto had not re-decorated. It was modern and suave, just as the men had originally wanted the whole house to be.

Roberto clattered around with pots and pans, humming a tune. Paolo smiled. He loved Roberto when he was like this; when he was like his old self.

"What's that you're humming? I've not heard it."

"It's an old jazz tune," answered Roberto, "Djem taught it me."

"Who's Djem?"

"Just someone. A boy."

A spike of jealousy flared inside Paolo, but he tried to squash it. "Just someone?" he forced a laugh, "you said you had no friends, but clearly you've met someone. Someone who's… who's made you happy…"

Paolo suddenly felt his stomach sink. Sadness, guilt and jealousy churned together inside him. This was the first time in weeks that Roberto had been cheerful, was it really down to someone else?

"No," Roberto looked at him, "I know what you're thinking and no, I'm not cheating on you. Djem is a child anyway. About fifteen or sixteen or something." Paolo instantly relaxed, even though he knew his feelings were unfair. In truth it was he who was having an affair, he just hadn't worked out how he was going to break up with Roberto yet.

He watched the smaller man continuing to cook, and there was a companiable silence for a long time. It seemed that Roberto had almost forgotten Paolo was there when he began to speaking again, not looking at Paolo as he did so.

"You know if I die, I think this would be my domain," he said, watching the sauce for the meat bubble slightly. "I would visit the others, go in the basement a lot. But here would be my little haven. I wonder if it would change? Would new people re-decorate? How would I cope? Would I even know?"

Paolo stared at Roberto's back. He felt the hair rising on his arms. "Roberto?" he called, and the younger man whirled round and stared at him uncomprehendingly.

"W-what are you on about?" asked Paolo. He felt like all he did nowadays was struggle to keep up with his lover's increasingly bizarre thought process.

Roberto looked at him and slowly, _slowly_, without moving his head, turned his eyes so that he was looking outside. He focused on the garden. Paolo followed his gaze but saw nothing more than the usual bushes and trees.

He gulped nervously then stood up and walked softly to his small boyfriend. Roberto's eyes were glassy and he seemed to have not noticed Paolo at all.

"Burning Man. He's still standing there," he muttered so quietly that Paolo only heard it due to his proximity, "that monster…"

Paolo wrapped his arms around the brunet and pulled him into a tight hug. Roberto did not reciprocate. Paolo was aware that Roberto hadn't left the house in almost three weeks. Paolo had met someone new, a man at the gym, and wanted to leave Roberto, but how could he, knowing that the man who had once been the love of his life was going completely insane?

He kissed the top of Roberto's head fiercely. "I still love you," he muttered, tears in his eyes, "I know you think I don't but I do!"

Roberto hadn't heard. Instead he watched as Giovanni Sforza threw down his cigarette, the light catching the leaves of the bushes and beginning to set them on fire.

**Modern Day**

"Don't worry sis, I have you."

Lucrezia opened her eyes slowly. Cesare was in front of her, his eyes wide and full of worry. "What happened?" he asked, "are you hurt?"

She shook her head. She wanted to say what she had seen, but her tongue felt swollen and her mouth was dry. Cesare helped lift her. Her entire body felt stiff and she realised with utter shame that she had a damp patch on her crotch; she had wet herself. Tears prickled at her eyes and she began to weep piteously.

Muttering that she would be fine, Cesare lifted her up into his arms and carried her slowly up into his room. He placed her in his bed and then pulled up a chair to sit beside her.

The tears were not falling anymore, but her eyes were red. He brushed his hand through her hair. "Just go to sleep Lu, just try to sleep. I won't leave you, I promise."

She nodded and closed her eyes. He gulped, feeling guilty for running out earlier. What a fool he had been! He also felt intolerably angry with Alfonso, who he blamed for the whole sequence of events. However, Alfonso had come with a warning…

Cesare turned and took his laptop from the desk. Placing on his lap he leaned back into his chair and switched it on. He thought for a moment, before typing into the search engine the address of the house. The first link was an aerial map and a link to the company who had sold it. However the link directly beneath it read, 'The Murder House.'

He clicked onto it and saw that it was the title of one of the local newspapers.

'1 January 2012

'The Murder House'

'The sunny and idyll suburbs outside of Southern Rome have been shocked again in another terrible murder case from one infamous house; a house which is now the source of old urban myths and superstitions. It is known amongst most Roman children as The Murder House.

Early yesterday morning Paolo and Roberto Orsini were found dead in their home. Police had first believed it to be a homophobic hate crime, but now it has been confirmed that Roberto Orsini shot his partner before hanging himself. The reasons behind such violence have not been discovered and neighbours have not been willing to talk to the media.

These two young men are but two in a line of victims in this one, inconsequential town house. There have been a number of deaths since it was first built in 1894 by Count Trastamara, rich gentleman who hailed from Naples. The Count was an unscrupulous fellow who women avoided and it is said that he was a backstreet abortionist, though no evidence of this has ever been found. After his death in 1902 (in which he was found in shocking circumstances which raised all sorts of questions about his having a taste of extreme sado-masochism) the house was bought by another rich man from France. He too died in a painful and bizarre manner, after murdering one of his patients. And so this continued on until finally in 1995 all of Europe was horrified by the tragic deaths of the Sforza family. Four children were burned alive in a house set on fire by their very own uncle, the infamous Giovanni. Rumours of incest and rape were circulated but nothing verified.

Understandably after the house was burned to a skeleton of itself, there were no buyers to be found for many years. However, even without owners people were still dying within its walls. One of the more mysterious cases was the complete disappearance of two brothers, last seen entering the burned remains of the house.

After almost a decade the house was bought and renovated by a Housing Agency. The Orsini's were the first people to buy the home and less than a year later, they have both died tragically.

Whilst a non-superstitious person in my everyday life, this journalist doubts that anyone will be brave, or foolhardy enough, to step into that house ever again.'''

Cesare let out a small gasp and sat back. Had father known about this? He shook his head, no, Rodrigo could not have known. Their father was a self-centred man who often put his own immediate gratification above the actual needs of his family which meant that sometimes Rodrigo was a cruel parent. But no matter how angry he made Cesare the fact remained that he wasn't wantonly spiteful or malicious; Rodrigo wouldn't put his family, or himself, at risk on purpose. But then the question arose of why Rodrigo hadn't researched the house before buying it.

'I shall query it with father later,' Cesare decided, gritting his teeth in quiet frustration.

He clicked back to Google, fully intending to find out more about the previous occupants, when the laptop suddenly switched off. The oldest Borgia tutted and tried to switch it back on. It was unresponsive. He then noticed how quiet the house was; the old familiar hum of constant electric now absent.

Frowning slightly, he stood up and switched the lamp on his desk. It didn't light up.

"A power out?" he muttered. "Typical."

He sat on the bed, beside his sister, a picked up a book from the floor. He would read quietly until his parents came home, and they could sort out the electric. He did not want to leave Lucrezia alone.

Cesare had grabbed the book without seeing what it was, and now looked to read the title. It was one of his favourites, a graphic novel called _Anya's Ghost._

He smirked a little at the irony. He opened the book and began to read. The story was about a slightly silly teenage girl (who often reminded him of Juan) who befriends a ghost. However, as the story goes on, it's clear that it isn't a good thing to be haunted by a spirit who never got to complete their life's goals.

Cesare read through at a quick pace, sparing a few glances now and then for Lucrezia, who seemed heavily asleep. He touched her golden hair. "We'll have to leave here," he said out-loud.

"**Why?**" The voice of a grown adult male spoke out.

Cesare leapt up from the bed. The hair on his arms were on end and he felt a sudden chill. The voice had come out of nowhere, but it had been loud and clear. It had almost been like a voice over comment on a film; definitely there but totally disembodied.

He forced himself to calm down his breathing by holding his breath for a moment or two. He then focused himself and looked around the room slowly before focusing on the bedroom door.

"Who are you?" he asked at last, "are you a ghost here? I know there are things here. I saw something in the basement."

Silence.

"I'm not afraid. I just want to know. Something has hurt my sister."

The voice did not answer, but suddenly the laptop and the lamp on the desk flickered back to life. He ran over to his computer to see that the wi-fi wasn't working still.

"You don't want me to research?" he called out, "then fine, I won't. Please, I don't want my family being hurt though."

On the right side of Cesare's bedroom, the entire wall was covered by bookshelves. It was four specific bookcases, all slotted closely together, covering the original wall completely. Cesare had filled them all, mostly with books, being something of an avid reader. Now one of the books slowly slid forward and dropped to the floor. Then another did the same. It was like someone invisible was carefully and deliberately pulling out these books before allowing them to drop to the ground.

This phenomenon occurred four times, all as Cesare watched from his bed with wide eyes, before the entire section of the bookcase began to shake. With increasingly violence the book case began to rattle, so much that it even began to disturb its neighbours.

Lucrezia stirred in her sleep, causing Cesare to lean down and comfort her as he did not want her to wake up only to witness more supernatural shenanigans. He covered her ears and kissed her hair, just as the book case finally fell forwards, crashing onto the floor. She frowned in her sleep, disturbed, but soon her features smoothed out again as he murmured sweet nothings.

His sister stilled, Cesare got off the bed and walked over to the fallen bookcase. He could now see what the…house or spirit or voice or whatever…had been trying to show him. Behind the bookcase was a small white door. He opened it, and a waft of dusty cold air blew out.

Inside was another room. The floor was wooden panels, much like in his own bedroom. The walls were blank of any posters or wallpaper. Nothing was on the floor apart from a large chest placed by a small circular window (again, the window being a mirror image of his own.) Above the window was a lonely wind-chime. The air was eerily cold; frigid as if frozen in time. As if the room had been waiting for someone.

Cesare walked forward slowly, as if in a dream, and touched the wind-chime gently. It called out with light tinkles. It looked vaguely Native American, decorated with red and blue feathers, and the chimes being a mixture of metal and wooden materials. Above the chimes was a small dream catcher, as expertly woven as a spider's web.

"Who are you waiting for?" he asked the room.

But nothing answered him.

**December 1995**

The smoke from Giovanni's cigarette snaked up and around the base of one winter-ravished bush. The dull orange flame flickered, a spark of life spitting forwards and alighting the dry wooden base of the vegetation. The spark of orange flame grew and developed into a small, happy flame.

Giovanni knocked on the front door of the house, a scowl on his face. He resolutely did not look up at the building; he did not want to see all the mysterious figures looking down on him., His heart pounded in his chest. What was he to do? The situation was creepy and frightening. Things were beyond his control, and his lack of control was making him angry and frustrated. He'd never been in a situation like this before- a situation where he quite possibly had entered into the realms of the supernatural. Giovanni was a religious man (though not a moral one) and so the idea of the supernatural wasn't enough to throw him into a fit of madness, however he was a modern man and something like a haunted house was enough to slowly begin breaking down all the natural barriers he had in his mind that kept him sane and calm.

The door opened slowly on its own. Giovanni could not help rolling his eyes. If this was a haunted house then it was a stereotype, and he did _not_ appreciate that. He stepped inside the dark foyer and saw Alphonso peering out of the basement door at him. He wondered for a moment if Alphonso had opened the front door, but there was no way the boy could have run the distance between the basement and door and back again in that time.

"Do you wanna come down and play?" the boy asked, the lower half of his face hiden in the basement, but Giovanni could hear the smile. "Paolo is down here, Djem too," Alphonso elaborated as if that was supposed to make sense to his uncle, "even the girl. Rebekah is Jewish, so we're gonna celebrate Hannukah with her. Mommy says it is important to respect different religions."

Giovanni stared at Alphonso.

Alphonso stared at Giovanni.

Very slowly, Giovanni backed into the kitchen, still watching the boy carefully. He then closed the kitchen door and sat down at the table. The kitchen seemed like the safest place to stay. He looked down at his hands and noticed that he was shaking slightly. He placed them under the table, ashamed of himself momentarily.

Outside a glimmer of vermillion flames could just be seen spreading across the bushes in the garden, but they were shrouded by the ever thickening smoke.

Giovanni, no doubt amusing the Universe, got out a cigarette and lit it. He leaned back in the chair and let out a puff of smoke, relaxing just a little. He would just wait in the kitchen. He'd wait then leave first thing in the morning. He would stay awake, and leave on the kitchen light. He'd be alright.

His mind wandered back to thoughts of his wife. It really had stung his ego when she left; even now there was a gaping wound. But the truth was, he felt as if she had humiliated him before even that. He had been embarrassed by her throughout their short, unhappy marriage. Why was that? She was very beautiful, and, though he did not like to admit it, she had been quite clever academically speaking. It was because she was so young. Something about her big naïve eyes and cute way of speaking grated on him. Looking back, he realised that even on their wedding day he had decided that he hated her and the relationship would never work.

'Perhaps that wasn't the best way to go about it,' he reflected, 'after all she was quite nice to me, despite everything. She was nice to me and I wasn't nice to her. I was never nice to her. Perhaps, if I had tried a little more, perhaps I would have liked her. We maybe could have been friends.'

Giovanni rarely regretted his actions, but when he did, he felt it keenly.

'It all went wrong from there,' he realised, 'I was angry with her all throughout the marriage, and she went with someone else. Then I was angry afterwards, and so I…I had sex with Sancia. And now Sancia is hurt. And the family is hurt. Perhaps I haven't been behaving very well."

Something caught his eye. Startled out of his reverie, Giovanni looked about the room. Everything seemed normal aside … ah, aside from the person standing in the corner. The person, it looked like a girl, had her back to Giovanni.

The girl had long black hair, but it wasn't Sancia. Her hair was different, more unkempt. Her dress looked like it came from the Roaring Twenties.

'It's a ghost,' he realised, his hands closing reflexively and his jaw clenching.

The girl was wet. A puddle of water was at her feet. The air became extremely frigid, so much so that he could see his breath puffing out in balls of smoke in front of him.

Tears prickled at his eyes. For some reason an overwhelming feeling of misery and pain welled up inside him; all the sadness and hurt he had felt as a boy pushing forwards and forcing him to recognise them. He had never been a happy child and he grew into an unhappy man. What was worse was that he was so accustomed to the feeling that he went on to spread that wretchedness to everyone else; how many people had he hurt in his lifetime, without ever fully realising what he was doing?

The girl was so wet and he reasoned that she had drowned somehow. Should he apologise to her? But why? He hadn't done anything! But what to Sancia? But she was a whore! But…but she hadn't wanted it. She had not wanted him to have sex with her. Pain erupted in his stomach, making his gasp out and clutch it. With watery eyes Giovanni looked up at the back of the wet girl. "I'm sorry!" he tried to say, but he couldn't.

Just as he began to wonder if she would move or do anything, a terrible scream ripped through the air and the lights turned off. Giovanni was plunged into darkness with only a ghost and screams of a girl as company.

He let out a cry and fell to the floor. His stomach stopped hurting, a suddenly as it had begun, but now he was just afraid. Outside none of the lights, from the heavenly bodies nor the Christmas decorations, were getting through due to the thick black smoke. The lights flicked back on, more dimly than before. The ghost girl was gone.

Giovanni opened the kitchen door and looked out into the foyer. The lights were off and everywhere was bathed in darkness. He didn't want to leave the light of the kitchen.

"Catherina!" he called, "Catherina!" He could hear the fear in his own quavering voice. He called her a few more times, but there was no answer. In the darkness, things were moving.

His heart in his throat Giovanni moved back into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. Another scream, this one he was sure was Sancia, tore through the house again. It did not sound like normal birthing cries, but the frightened screams of a dying girl.

He began to breathe deeply, too deeply and frantically.

'No, please don't have a panic attack!' he prayed to his own body.

A loud scream of agony ripped through the house, making him shout out in fearful response. He crouched on the floor, sweat pouring from every pore. The screams continued, intermittently.

'The baby…she must be having the baby now! And it's killing her, it's killing her just as she said it would!'

Around him the walls began to push and vibrate; pulsating like a womb trying to expel its inhabitant. Giovanni hid under the table, whimpering lightly without meaning to, when what looked like thick, black, sweaty hair began to grow out of the kitchen floor. He yelped, feeling disgusted as it touched him. He stood and climbed on top of the table.

Sancia screamed out loudly again, and the wall which contained a window pulled in, causing the window to smash. The shards of glass blew in slowly- too slowly to be natural. He found himself watching in wonder, so that at first he didn't even notice that outside the garden was in flames.

'But how?' his mind still fought for logic, 'it makes no sense. There is snow outside. How is it burning so much?'

The screams of Sancia had stopped, as had the pulsating walls. Now everything seemed eerily quiet. The smoke of the flames was pouring into the house. He would be dead soon.

He wavered, not knowing what to do. Out in the foyer was the darkness, and if he leapt out of the window he would be stuck with the flames and smoke.

He shook his head, realising he was doomed.

"Help!" he began to scream, "help!"

Outside, he began to hear the screams of children. He paused his calls for help for the moment, opting to drop down the ground in the hopes of not inhaling too much smoke. On the floor he could see under the cabinets and under the sink. His spine arched slightly as he noticed someone hiding under one of the cabinets. The thing was watching him whilst wriggling about in a unnecessary and unnatural manner. A big grin appeared on its face when it saw it had Giovanni's attention, making him bark out a scream. Gasping like a fish, he inched away from the squirming being and crawled towards the door. If the children were screaming, did this mean the fire was inside?

There were the sounds of flames above him, and he looked up to see that the ceiling was on fire. It would cave in at any moment.

He opened the door and looked out into the foyer, the lights were on but it was thick with smoke. Soon it would be impossible to see anything. He began to feel by the wall, inching around so that he would eventually reach the front door. On the stairway he saw a young person walking down coughing profusely. It looked like the person was carrying something in his arm.

"What have you done?" the person said, and he recognised it as Benito, "what have you done? Where is Alphonso? Ascanio is not breathing!"

Giovanni ignored the pleas of the young man and continued trying to find the door. Soon the figure slumped and fell to the ground. Giovanni assumed he had been carrying baby Ascanio, and had just collapsed on top of the toddler.

'Well the baby is as good as dead anyway,' he thought, deciding not to help, 'it can't have survived this much smoke in the atmosphere.'

"What's happening?" he heard a high pitch voice crying out. It was Alphonso. The child began to cough, "what's happening? Ursula? Ursula what is happening?"

Giovanni ignored his little nephew, he had finally found the front door, and almost weeping with relief, pulled it open. There was a huge explosion as the oxygen from outside connected to the flames that were in the kitchen. Giovanni screamed, his whole body burning violently.

The entire foyer was now in flames and they were climbing the stairs rapidly, surely readying to murder any Sforza's hiding up there.

Giovanni rolled around on the ground, trying to stop the flames. The pain was unbearable. He began to feel himself passing out and as darkness slowly came over to him, the pain began to mercifully leave.

That was until a face suddenly appeared in front of his. It was a young boy. He was pretty, with brown hair in an old fashioned hair cut, like something from the seventies. The boy scowled at him. "You are not welcome in the house!" he spat.

Giovanni then felt himself being dragged across the floor and flung outside.

He lay out in the snow, shuddering. His whole body going into shock. As the world began to fade into darkness, he swore he heard the sound of two babies crying.

With his dying thoughts he wondered if they were boys…or girls…?

* * *

**A.N. I just want to say a big thank you to those who review. My story is pretty different to the others. I don't write historically, there is very little (virtually no) romance in this at the moment and I write about characters other than Lucrezia and Cesare. So I wasn't expecting to get much interest. However you have been very supportive, so thank you. I hope you all continue to enjoy further, creepy chapters.**


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